Inconvenience
by SiriuslyOrion
Summary: On New-Year's day Max is attacked and left blind. He thought life with his parents was shitty before, but now, when he's forced to depend on those around him, he realizes that there's no-one who'll help him except himself. He needs to make it to the Camp before life decides to kill him, so that he can get away from his damnable parents and the life they inflict on him.
1. New-Year's Day

**Chapter 1**

* * *

This all just sucks ass. Sucks saggy whore ass.

This was Max's primary thought as he sat in his bedroom, his closet pushed in front of the door with a broken lock. He could hear pretty much everything that was happening on the outside. His parents, with about a dozen others like them, yelling and whooping as they injected themselves with the drug-of-the-month. From the sounds they were making, he could guess that they were on shitty angel dust or something that'd make 'em see weird crap. At least he could walk around the place in some manner of peace if they thought he was some hallucination, he could get himself something to eat or make a damned cup of coffee.

A grumble from his stomach affirmed the decision, and he slipped out of his room through the small crack in the door only he could fit through. Silently, his bare feet pattered on the dusty carpet until he got to the room that barely qualified as a kitchen. He always thought it was more akin to a crack den than anything you'd actually keep food in.

Ignoring a howl from the next room, he plucked a box of pop-tarts from the cupboard and began making a cup of coffee. As he pulled himself onto the counter-top to get his favourite mug, he pulled his hands back in shock. In the middle of his left palm, a shard of glass was jutting out, a small trail of blood staining it. With a quiet curse he pulled out the shard and swept his arm over where he tried to pull himself up. Sure enough, there was a shattered syringe lying there.

With a low growl he checked to see if anything had actually been in the syringe. The last thing he needed was to get high off of his parents' scraps. He didn't see anything suspect so he continued on, ignoring the stinging in his palm.

He slithered out of the kitchen with his box of pop-tarts and cup of coffee, glad everyone else in the house had better things to be doing than bothering him. He dipped the treats into the coffee when he'd settled again.

Before long he needed to piss. Bad. He'd held it in ever since his parents' guests had arrived. He did not want to meet one of them in the bathroom again and have them watch him piss with a retarded look on their face. Twice was more than enough. He opened his bedroom window instead and kneeled on the sill, pissing out onto the pavement with a sigh of relief.

After finishing his sorry excuse for a dinner, he stripped to his underwear and climbed under the covers of his bed. The mouldy blanket did little in the way of comfort, but it was better than nothing. Max could easily blur out the noises of the house, but the stinging of his hand kept him awake longer than he'd have liked. He gave the cut a few licks and clutched the pillowcase tight in his fist. It must've worked, because he was asleep before long.

When he woke up, it was still dark outside, but the silence told him that it must be early in the morning. He dressed in the same things as yesterday and crept out of his room. Max decided to check if the coast was clear before anything else. He peered into the living room and saw about half-a-dozen people passed out. His parents were thankfully among them. He prayed to whatever gods weren't there that they'd overdosed. A shift in his bitch mother's position proved his prayers unanswered, as usual. He dashed away as quietly as he could. His mother was at her worst after she just woke up, and Max knew it was in his best interest to be out of the place before she could get something in her. Food? Beer? More drugs? It varied from morning to morning.

A quick glance at the kitchen clock told him that it was nearly 6 am. A perfect time for a morning stroll 'til noon. He eyed his dad's wallet on the counter and took 20 bucks from it. He'd be able to eat something half-decent with money like that.

After making sure that the front door closed with a click the sound of a mouse's squeak, Max whistled a tune with his hands in his hoodie pockets. He began to think, of all the ways to start the new year, this wasn't the worst. At least this time he didn't hafta put up with people and their issues. He wondered if anywhere would actually be open. McDonald's seemed like the type to be cruel and corporate enough to shanghai some liberal-arts majors into working New-Year's day.

There were barely any other people outside, but Max preferred it this way. The only other people walking the streets were whores doing the walk of shame, regretting their New-Year's celebrations. He chuckled to himself when he saw a woman in her mid-twenties, holding her high-heels with a look of self-loathing carved onto her face. She didn't notice him, making it even funnier when he whispered "Sluuuuuut!" as they crossed paths. She must've thought he was a ghost or some other retarded shit because she looked around all panicked before scampering off even faster. That left a smile on Max's face until he arrived at the giant, golden arches of the McDonald's "M".

He rapped on the glass door, startling the server wiping down a table with a rag. He glanced up at Max, His eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. Max glowered at him.

"Why aren't you open?" Max asked.

The server held up 8 fingers and gestured to a shiny new sign on the window.

It was for a new set of opening times, and today they didn't open 'til 8.

"What the fuck!" He cursed. He went back to the door and banged his fists against the glass. "This is a 24-hour place! Has been since it opened here!"

The server shrugged and mouthed "New management" before going back to his scrubbing. Max flipped him off with both fingers as he walked away, his mood completely soured. What was he gonna do now? McDonald's was the only place dumb enough to be open for 24 hours.

" _Ugh, I fucking hate Sundays."_ He thought crankily. He didn't even consider going home, not until he was certain it'd be tolerable.

Max lamented the fact that there wasn't anything to do in this shithole town. The movie theatre didn't open until 8 too, nor did anywhere else.

He felt a twist of frustration when he passed by his shitty school, and how he'd be forced into going there again the following week. He was guaranteed to end up in the principal's office the first day back. All the teachers had it out for him, just because he refused to conform to their system of pumping out like-minded, unambitious losers like the rest of his class did. He hated how they did things, and he let them know. Boy did he let them know. One time, just before Christmas actually, he stood on his homeroom teacher's desk and told her passionately about how she was a lazy, unimportant cog in a pyramid that didn't value her for anything more than her ability to read at a level slightly above the cretins she was payed to spend 6 hours a day with (himself excluded of course).

She stormed off to the bastard principal and his parents were called in within the hour. Honestly, that was the only downside of the whole thing. His parents didn't give half a shit about what he said to his bitch teacher, but they sure as hell cared about being called into that godforsaken building to talk with a stuffy collared asshole who thought his shit smelled sweeter than everyone else's. At least, that's how his dad put it. He laughed at it, but that was the wrong thing to do. The car had been braked too suddenly, and Max got propelled between the front seats, winding him and bruising his cheek. That would've been piss to deal with, but his mother had been adamant that he be payed back for the annoyance he oh-so carelessly inflicted on his "hard-working" parents. He'd been given a few lashes of an old, mouldy belt on his ass, back, a few on his arms when he tried to block, and a couple across his face, matching the bruise on his other cheek.

They didn't hold back that time, since he was suspended up until the Christmas break, the marks would have enough time to fade away before anyone relevant saw them. He didn't cry though, not once. He'd kill himself before giving them the satisfaction of seeing him weak.

He'd never say it out loud, or even think it prominently, but he wished that he'd have been able to go to that fucking shithole of a camp over the Christmas break too. At least he'd have been able to sleep properly, and not with one eye open.

He kicked a can onto the empty road and pondered what to do with himself. He sniffed under his arm and cringed. The local pool would be open at 10, that is, if they'd be open at all the first day of the year, and he'd shower there if he could. What then? He could see a movie, but then, would he have enough money left after both food and a trip to the pool. If the right person was at the pool, then he might get away with asking to use the shower and then fucking off. There were a couple who'd let him, both women, who'd coo at him if he looked at them the right way.

He grinned to himself. If one of them were at the pool, they'd be wearing one of those small, white tank-tops that really emphasised the shape of their boobs. The thought lightened his gut a little. With luck there'd be no-one else there at all, and he'd be able to rub one out in the showers. Last time he tried at home, he'd been caught by his dad and laughed at. Bastard announced his doings to the whole house. Sure, that was only his mom and a pair of junkies they were getting high with, no-one whose opinion mattered to him, but it was still humiliating as fuck, and he hadn't risked it again since.

That was about 2 weeks ago now, and the mere thought of tits had him discretely pushing the front of his hoodie down a little farther, just in case. A passing car ripped him from his thoughts and he looked up to see a beat-up looking Toyota zooming by.

It parked on the curb a few metres up and the passenger door swung open. Something about it made his guts churn, so he swiftly turned into an alleyway. He peaked over his shoulder and saw nobody there. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and relaxed his shoulders. God, he was paranoid. Being home for too long made him put up his guard way too much. No-one had any reason to stop and accost him. Ugh, Max shuddered. "Accost" was a very "David" word.

He spat at the thought of speaking like that weird man, and his existence in general, and the existence of that camp while he was at it. His thoughts then roamed to the other campers he'd spent close to 3 months with. Neil, and Nikki, and the others. Another, more foolish person would've smiled at the thought of friends, but Max knew better. He'd likely never see them again. No-one returned to Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell after a hellish week there, let alone 3 months, no-one besides him. It was guaranteed that on the 1st day of summer he'd be whisked off there by his parent's, so they wouldn't hafta look at him until the end of August. Then again, that meant he wouldn't hafta look at them either.

He was about to look for a clock to see if it was McDonald's time before he was yanked back by the hood. He gagged and was about to fight back before his arms were pinned to his sides by a pair of hands far bigger than his own.

"Let me go you jizz-soaked pedos!" He yelled. It was the only thing he'd be allowed to say apparently, because a foul-tasting fabric gag was shoved into his mouth before he could say another word. Max was then none-too-gently pushed onto his back. He finally got a good look at his assaulters, but it didn't help at all. Each of the 3 were wearing balaclavas and had hoods up. All he could tell was that one was black and the other 2 were white.

He kicked out, but his legs were stepped on by heavy, steel-toed boots. His head was forced still, and his left eyelids were pried open. His worry doubled up about 5 times in the next half-a-second as what looked like a bottle of eye-drops was held over his pupil. His squirming intensified immediately. No way in hell was he letting some balaclava-wearing bastards put something that definitely wasn't prescription into his eyes. But it seemed like he didn't have a choice.

Solid white drops were squeezed out of the bottle, directly onto his dilated pupil. The 1st burned like Indian food on the way out, the 2nd like a dildo of jalapenos was shoved up his ass, and the 3rd even more so. Max couldn't count how many drops hit his eye when they stopped, all he registered was the overwhelming burning sensation scraping at his eye-ball like a rabid cat. His gag did a good job at keeping his yells in for now, but when his other eye was pried open, he wasn't sure how effective it'd be in a few second's time.

When he was let go, Max threw his hands to his melting eyes. They truly felt as if lava had been dripped into them, and nothing he was doing was helping. He couldn't even arrange his thoughts to come up with a remotely cogent plan, he could only writhe on the concrete, and hope for something to put him out of his misery.

Max didn't remember passing out, nor did he remember being moved. He only recalled yelling his throat raw as his eyes were burned from the inside out. The very next thing he registered was a sterile smell, a lumpy mattress, and a horrible morning taste in his mouth. His head felt as if it'd been kicked on either side by donkeys, and then pounded at with a sledge hammer.

He groaned and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes, only, something got in the way. He felt around his head and realised that bandages were wrapped around him. He tried pulling them away, but his fingers couldn't muster the strength.

"H-Hey!" He yelled out ignoring his sore throat. He could hear footsteps pattering over to him, giving a grunt of affirmation and leaving him again. "What the fuck!" He cursed. "Don't just leave again! I have questions god-fucking-dammit!" Hit fists pounded against the covers, but he remained unanswered.

It might've been only half-a-minute, but as impatient as Max was it might as well have been an hour, when a gait of heavier footsteps approached him.

"Whoever just walked in better take this fucking blind-fold off before I call child protective services!" Max growled.

The other finally spoke. It was a man, with a deep, booming voice. "Young man, you are in St Mary's Paediatric Hospital right now. Do you remember why?"

Max threw his head back. It was a bad idea, he only deepened the pounding. "I-I was attacked, I think."

"Unfortunately, you are correct. You were found passed out in an alleyway on Fr. Preston Avenue. Now, I need you to tell me your name, and a way to contact your parents."

"What! Why? Can't I just fuck off now, I've already woken up!" Max crossed his arms, hoping he looked as sure and solid as steel.

"I'm afraid not. Your parents must be called in, it is…essential." The man seemed to be choosing each word carefully.

Max didn't care. He was already sick of the mattress, the smell, the persistent sound of a drip and the man talking to him. He wanted to eat, to shower, and go see a movie so this godforsaken day would be worth something at least half memorable.

"I'm leaving." He said simply. He pulled at the bandages around his head again, this time fuelled by the fire of being pissed off. They gave away and tore between his fingers this time. The bundle fell loosely around his neck and shoulders, but there was still something blocking his vision. He felt at his eyes, and a pair of soggy pads were there. With an even deeper growl he pulled them off too, though with a wince as they pulled a bit of his eyebrows with them.

His closed eyes hurt even more than his head, but he rubbed the sleep from them anyway. He peaked the right open a little, expecting the light to take a few seconds to adjust. It didn't though, in fact, there was no light at all. He opened both eyes fully.

"Why the fuck are the lights off!" Max asked, his fists shaking.

"Son," The man said, his voice dripping with pity. "anything I say I must also say to your parents or guardians."

This man was fucking with him. There was no way what Max thought was going on was _actually_ going on. "Turn on the fucking lights. Now." Max tried to keep the crack out of his voice, he really did, but he was scared now. Scared of the man's next words, scared of what they'd mean, scared of how things were going to be. Feeling all of this in the space of a second made his gut feel as if it'd been stabbed, opened up, and whisked about.

"My Boy, I'm afraid your eyes were severely damaged when you were attacked. They have been exposed to a very toxic substance, and some very important parts of your eye have been…"

"Just say it!" Max yelled, his fear and frustration having reached a boiling point. "Am-am I fucking blind?"

The silence said it all. The man's unwillingness to speak, to deliver such awful news to a child proved Max's worst fear to be correct.

He was blind.

* * *

 **Hey everybody, thanks for reading this fic and making it to the end of chapter 1. If you like what you read then leave a review and let me know that there's interest. Even a favourite or a follow inspires me to continue writing.**

 **Anyway, ciao for now.**


	2. Parents

**Chapter 2**

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 **To Namekuji:** Firstly, thank you for reviewing, I greatly appreciate it. Secondly, there is a reason Max was attacked, beyond the $20 he had on him. I won't get into it now as that'd mean spoilers, but you needn't fret my child.

* * *

He was blind. That was it, the final word, the last thing he'd know ever again. The doctor's words sealed that reality in stone. Max lay in the bed, closing his eyes as tight as he could, and opened them again, hoping that it was all a surreal dream and he'd snap out of it any second now.

But he didn't wake up. This was his life now. Hundreds of thoughts passed through his mind. How would he ever do anything ever again. He wouldn't be able to read, watch TV or movies, or ever look at anything ever again. He'd need to be told which way to walk and which direction to piss in.

Worst of all, he'd be utterly defenceless. His parents would have an easy target now, as would all the people who just plain didn't like him. His classmates for one, the teachers for another, and people he cussed out in general. He'd never see anything coming. That thought immediately made him feel like throwing up.

He didn't remember giving the man his address, but apparently, he did. Max didn't hear the footsteps enter the room, but he heard the voice clear as day.

"Well…what happened to you?"

It was the jarring tone of his father, and hearing it so suddenly made Max flinch.

"Look at me, boy." It was an order. Usually Max would refuse on principle, but he didn't have the confidence right now. He craned his head in the direction he thought the voice came from, and hoped he was right.

"My god!" The man growled out. "What the hell did you do?"

Max shrank back into the pillows. The voice felt like rusty nails grinding against his ears.

"It's, I, I, I…" He stuttered. The explanation was lost to him, he couldn't arrange the thoughts in his head to make sense of everything himself, let alone tell anyone else what had happened.

The man who spoke to Max first piped up in his stead. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. …"

"Anand." Max's mother added.

"Anand. Your son has been attacked, and his eyes severely damaged." Neither of them said anything. Max was pissed off by their silence. He couldn't know the looks on their faces, but if he imagined hard enough, they probably looked bored or indifferent. "He's been left blind in both eyes. By the time he was brought to us the chemical had damaged the pupils, irises, sclerae and the corneas have been damaged most of all, resulting in a decolouration of the irises."

Max thought about what that meant. Did his eyes look blank and empty now, like a dead person's eyes? It was superficial, so he didn't know why it made his gut churn even more than it already had. It was a small consolation that he no longer shared an eye colour with his mom, but it did make him feel a tiny bit better.

"Well, will he ever be able to see again? At all?" His mother asked. Her voice lacked concern and worry. In fact, Max thought that the man cared more about the destruction of his eyes than either of his parents did. He wasn't surprised. The man was probably a doctor, who wanted to see people get better if nothing else. He didn't care whether or not _Max_ got better, he cared if his _patient_ got better.

The doctor didn't speak for a minute. Max could picture his face, despite never seeing him, his mouth agape, eyes darting from him to his parents, his brain trying to find the kindest words. He heard the man sigh what sounded like an attempt at a sad sigh. Then he spoke.

"It is very unlikely. The damage is too severe, and…"

The sudden sound of feet shuffling away pissed Max off. These were _his_ eyes they were talking about. If anyone in the world had the right to know about their condition, he did. His parents certainly didn't. They probably only showed up because they'd be investigated by the police or child protective services if they left their blinded son in the hospital. If that happened, their "hobbies" would be known by the wrong people, and Max would become part of "The System". That's what he called the whole "foster-care, orphanage, adoption" crap. He was threatened with being shipped off to the nearest foster-home many times over the years. He knew they were empty threats. They liked the child benefits cheque that showed up in the letterbox every month.

He wondered, would they send him away now? He suddenly became a high-maintenance burden to them. They'd need to pay for his treatment, and anything else that came with having a blind child, and they didn't like spending money.

Correction: they didn't like spending money on _him_ when they could give it to their dealers.

Max heard a single set of footsteps re-enter the room. "Ahem, Max?" It was the doctor.

"What?"

"The police have been called. They'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened."

"What the fuck does "the man" need to talk to me about?" Max crossed his arms and scowled.

"You were attacked, and they want to find the one's who did it. You're the only one who...encountered them, so they'd like to speak with you when you're able. You don't need to worry; your parents will be with you."

The company of his own parents did nothing but piss Max off. If they were in the room when the pigs spoke to him he'd need to be super careful about every word he said. If he spoke even a single incriminating word he'd pay the price, blindness or no blindness.

He figured it wouldn't do much to keep the police, and by extension; his parents, waiting.

"Send them in whenever." He muttered, his head beginning to ache again.

A moment later more footsteps than he could keep track of approached his bed. He could hear his mother's nasal breathing come closer than it normally would've. She probably wanted to seem like she fit the role of "The Caring Mother".

"Max?" A deep yet distinctly female voice addressed him.

"Yeah?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened."

"What's to ask? I got manhandled by a pack of sadistic child molesters and had acid poured into my eye sockets. That's all there is to it." What was the point of this anyway? It's not like they'd be able to find the ones who did this. "Their faces were covered, I couldn't see them."

"I see." The police-woman said.

"So did I." Max added mutely.

"What'd you say, boy?" His father asked. Max flinched again. Not being able to see where the fucker was standing was really starting to really piss him off.

"I didn't say anything." He muttered. Pushing his dad's buttons was dangerous, especially if others were around to see him get embarrassed by his son.

"Was there anything else that happened, any other clues or hints?" A second, new voice spoke now, this one male, probably another officer.

Max shrugged, nothing sprung to mind. He was just walking down the street, minding his own business, and then he turned into an alleyway because…

"Actually, there is something, now that I think about it." No-one said anything else. They were all waiting for him to continue. "I turned into the alley in the first place 'cause a car pulled up a bit ahead of me. I thought, "Well I'm not putting up with this shit", so I turned into the alley to go around."

"Do you remember any details about the car?" The male officer asked.

"It was a shitty, old, black Toyota, I think. I'm pretty sure it was anyway."

"And what made you feel the need to go around the car in the first place?" The female officer asked this time.

Max scoffed. "This is a crap-hole town, and a random car pulling up right by a lone kid? I'm not so retarded as to let myself get kidnapped." Honestly, these people were stupidly tedious. There were hundreds of cars like the one he described puttering around the place. There wasn't a point in what knowing this particular one looked like. "Besides, there's nothing really saying it was their car, so what's the point?"

"They're just doing their jobs." His mother rasped out. God, she reeked of smoke, and every time she opened her mouth she let out another invisible cloud of tobacco laced smell.

"And there's nothing else you can remember? At all?" The male officer asked.

Max shook his head. "Nope, nothing at all. I guess that means your job in here is done." Max didn't care how rude or dismissive he sounded towards them. He didn't care about how his parents were probably thinking about how badly this reflected on them. He didn't care about finding the ones who did this. Well, that wasn't completely true, but that's how he felt at the moment. All he _really_ cared about was the fact that he was never going to see again. He'd only ever see this empty _nothing_ forever.

The officers said their farewells and were gone without Max realizing or caring. The doctor also thought the "family" would appreciate some time alone together. If he could read Max's mind he would've never have even considered the thought. He probably would've called the officers back as well. Max knew that'd be the average person's reaction anyway. But he wasn't average. No. He was going to steel through this! He was going to get out of this bed and live a life worth living goddammit! He was going to-

"Why do you have that stupid look on your face, boy?"

-flinch yet again. That single comment, the lonesome, monotone, icy-cold comment shoved a dagger into Max's heart. The uplifting thoughts he allowed himself to entertain for just a moment were turned to dust, and then blown away by the frigid bellow of his father's voice.

"I-" He considered his words very carefully. If he said something insulting, or even mildly snarky, he'd be in for it. He wouldn't be punished immediately, no, they were too smart for that. They wouldn't dare as long as there were potential witnesses so close by. A doctor or nurse could happen to waltz right in while his ass was getting beat, getting slapped across the face, or hit on the back. Depended solely on their collective mood. "I don't know." He replied plainly. He couldn't be hit if he said nothing to warrant it. That logic worked at least some of the time. "Stupid thoughts I guess." He muttered it quietly, yet clearly enough so they heard it. It never hurt to throw in a self-degrading comment now and then. They felt sour on Max's tongue, but when he used them he found he'd be more likely to avoid a hit. They probably felt better and more justified about themselves when he did it.

His father scoffed. "You're probably right. Ya know, I don't think I've ever met someone as stupid, as ungrateful, and as selfish as you, Max."

Those words, unlike the previous, ice-like words of indifference, burned through Max's ears as he heard them. The absolutely incredulous injustice of them made his temper flare like a gasoline fuelled bonfire. _He_ was selfish? _He_ was ungrateful? _He_ was stupid? This coming from an unemployed, alcoholic drug-addict, who spent more money on an ambiguous pill than on food for his son and then smacked said son when he dared to say he was hungry? Such hypocritical words coming from a man who never bothered to educate himself beyond the dos and do-nots of self-inserting a syringe into the crook of your arm? Someone who had enough unknown felonies under his belt to put away a dozen men long enough to miss their new-born's college graduation?

It made Max want to scream, it made him want to yell bloody murder at the bastard and kick him and punch him and make him hurt any way within his power! But he couldn't do any of that, nor could he put any of his thoughts to speech. Doing either of those would've proven hazardous when he was physically able, but now? He wasn't suicidal just yet.

"Really? Well, I guess I've found something to put on my resume then. Do you know anywhere that'll hire a blind, minority 10-year-old?" It wasn't the safest thing he could've said, but it was just sarcastic enough that it let out a little spark of the boiling anger festering in his tiny body.

"Don't speak to your father that way." His mother rasped.

He pursed his lips together. Her speaking only annoyed him more, and he wanted to hurt her too, just as much as he wanted to hurt his father.

"Tch, it's not like it's a hard question. The answer's "nothing" by the way, in case it wasn't obvious."

He really wasn't good at watching his mouth. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, not wrong morally, just wrong for his health. He didn't need to see to know his father's nostrils were flaring; he could hear the bull-like breathing.

"I'll chalk this attitude up to the drugs you're doped up on, boy. I see any more of it though, and you'll wish your brain was melted like those useless fucking eyes of yours!"

Max's temper flared anew. He gritted his teeth and clenched the blanket in his fists. He was just letters away from exploding and telling the pair they could go and shove themselves up the Quartersister's cunt. He managed to hold his tongue this time though and calmed himself. His head and eyes ached a throbbing ache. If this is what the drugged-up pain was like, he didn't wanna feel it in its complete glory.

"Yeah, it's the drugs." Max murmured. He lay back on the bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. _"Maybe if I go to sleep I'll wake up and this fucking nightmare will just be a result of second-hand drug taking."_ It didn't seem to be likely. This kind of anger could only happen in real life, but he went to sleep anyway. His parents didn't have any issues with that. It gave them a good excuse to get the fuck out of there and take whatever they had lying around after their New-Year's celebrations.

* * *

His dreams were still in colour. When he woke up he remembered the dull, dusty blue of his bedroom carpet, the faded brown of Mr. Honey-Nuts, the ugly green of the kitchen tiles, and David's stupid brown hair. Was it brown? He couldn't remember it clearly. He knew it puffed up in the front, like a fag would have it, but he had a hard time recalling its colour. It was more of a reddish-brown, he finally realized. He said it was called "Burnt Umber" or something. David threw a little tantrum when Max called him a half-ginger daywalker, saying that he wasn't ginger, and even so, there was literally nothing different about them. Max knew that, obviously, but David's buttons were easier to push than his dad's, and he didn't suffer any consequences for playing with the counsellor's emotions. Well, most of the time anyway.

He heard the door open and a pair of light footsteps came closer. There was a jingle of rings and Max guessed that the curtain around his bed had been pulled open.

"Hello Max." A too cheery woman's voice greeted him. "It's good to see you awake. You must want something to eat by now."

The woman was difficult for Max to place, at least by voice alone. She sounded genuine enough, but no-one was that happy to give a recently blinded child his dinner. Then again, David was still an unsolved anomaly in Max's worldview. If this woman was even a fraction as genuine as David, he could believe she was actually happy to give him food.

"Yeah, I am." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his fists, and he nearly snapped when he heard the woman gush "Awww!"

He was brought a tray of food that was served to him breakfast-in-bed style, with a fancy stand and all. It actually smelled nice, and there were a few things there for him. Some warm bread, a soup of some sort, something sweet and chocolatey, and what smelled like apple juice.

His suddenly realized that his mouth was dry and had that awkward morning taste in it. He went straight for the juice, but he couldn't quite tell where it was, so his hand knocked it from the tray before a drop of it even reached his lips.

"Fuck!" He yelled, pissed at his own inability to take a damn drink.

"It's okay!" The woman pattered over to him and placed the drink on his tray again. "There's a lid on it, and a straw."

"Oh." He felt his cheeks heat up a bit. Not only was he reduced to a toddler's sippy-cup, he couldn't even use it right. Carefully this time, he used both hands to pick up the cup, and found the mouth of the straw after some feeling around. It tasted good, great even, better than hospital food ought to have been. He felt around for the bowl of soup he smelled. It was warm to the touch. He found the spoon and slowly brought it to his mouth. It was delicious, the best thing he'd tasted in a while. It was better than a pop-tart and coffee dinner, and even better than McDonald's. When he thought about it for more than three seconds, he realized that his standards were lower than his Dad's sense of empathy and compassion.

He ate fast, slurping it down without hesitation (or manners). He had missed the bowl a few times when he went to scoop more soup and had knocked something soft and crumbly around the plate a few times. He poked at it and felt creamy, melted butter on his fingertip. He picked it up and used it instead of the spoon with his soup. It tasted even better with the bread. After finishing the soup and eating every crumb of bread he could find he remembered the final item he could still smell. He searched for it after swashing down another gulp of apple juice. When he felt something warm and spongey against his fingers he knew he'd found it. He licked his fingers clean of the smooth, sugary chocolate sauce before feeling for the entire piece. It was big enough to fit in both of his hands. Licking his lips, he took a massive bite out of it. He felt some of the warm sauce smudge against his nose, but he couldn't have cared less. It was delicious, and it was the only thing that existed in his world right now.

When every last bite was gone Max licked his hands clean too. He used the front of his gown as a towel and wiped his face with it.

"He-he."

Max jolted when he heard the small little laugh only a few feet away. His face flushed hot when he realized that the woman had never left and had seen him devour his food like a ravenous wild-child.

"You saw nothing!" He hoped he looked threatening as he pointed his finger at her. _Was_ he pointing his finger at her? He only knew she was within a few feet, but beyond that, nothing. "Grr, where are you!?"

"Right here, Max." He felt her fingertips lightly touch his outstretched hand. He pulled back immediately as if she were as hot as orange coals. "Your face is very messy. Will you let me clean it for you?"

Max thought about the question, wondering why a nurse would bother asking and not just do her job without consideration for the patient's comfort. That's what the hospital experience was sold to be like anyway. After thinking about it objectively he didn't want to look like a child unable to eat cleanly when his doctor, or god forbid; his parents, came in.

"You might as well, it _is_ your job after all."

She must've been prepared for that response because not a second after giving her the okay, Max's face was practically smothered by a warm, damp cloth. She wasn't a moment too late either because right after she pulled away Max heard the door open and the heavier footsteps of the doctor came in.

"Ah, Max, it's good to see that you're awake. There's something I must give you."

Max wondered what it was. Was it more food? More pain-killers? The bill? He dreaded the prospect of that last one.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Eye-drops." The doctor answered.

"Do you understand the concept of blindness, "doctor"? You see, I don't."

The doctor chuckled at Max's quip and strode right up to his bedside. "The point of these is to make sure that your eyes don't get infected, and they'll help with the healing process. Tilt your head back please."

Max did as he was told. He trusted the doctor to an extent, as much as one could trust a medical professional to do their job at least.

"They'll sting just a bit though."

He wasn't lying, they really did sting. Though, after the agony of having whatever blinded him poured into his eyes carelessly, it didn't seem so bad. He still cursed loudly though.

"Dammit!" Max grunted, squinting tears out of the corners of his eyes. "How much longer do I hafta stay here?"

"Actually, you'll be discharged in the morning, Max." The doctor replied. "We asked your parents if they'd like to stay the night by your bedside, but they said they'd better stay at home and get things ready for you. We said to be here at 10 am for you, so you have 'til then."

Max had very mixed feelings about leaving so soon. On one hand: his parents. On the other: brain numbing boredom and a perpetual sickbed and too-cheery people.

"Great." Was the only response he could muster up, and it wasn't very enthusiastic at that. In any case, he had until the morning to brace himself for blind life with his parents. He was _not_ looking forward to it.

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 **Thanks to everybody who has read this far, I greatly appreciate the time you took to read thus far. If you're feeling generous please leave a review, it'll let me know to work on the next chapter a bit faster. Thank you.**


	3. Belt

**Chapter 3**

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 **To TGnat: Thank you for the review and thank you for the complement, it's makes me really happy to hear that :3 And in regards to your question, I answered that in PMs.**

 **To SG: Yes, as will be obvious with this chapter, Max has already been to camp, and I do plan on having him go back, which I think can be inferred from the summary. Thank you for the review :) and don't hesitate to leave another.**

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The sputtering of the car's exhaust never sounded so horrible to Max. Before he'd be able to tune it out by distracting himself by looking at whatever happened to be outside the window, but now that little luxury wasn't quite there anymore. The radio had been taken out and sold by his parents barely a day after buying it, so he couldn't even try to lose himself in whatever crap they would've otherwise put on. All he had to listen to was the ugly rattling of that damned exhaust.

His parents were uncharacteristically quiet. They'd typically be trying to talk over one another in the argument of the day, or they'd be discussing the potency of whatever 'Emile' had to sell, and if they could afford the cost. If Max happened to be in the car he was promptly ignored, so long as he kept quiet. He should've kept quiet more often than he did, he knew that, but sometimes he'd get so irritated by whatever they were blathering on about that he couldn't help it when he yelled at them to "Shut the hell up you pair of rotting balls!" or something else as hilariously insulting. It'd be worth it when the car broke to a sudden halt and the seatbelt winded him, and his mother rasping at him to "Shut your mouth you little bastard!".

He smiled to himself when he heard his father speak for the first time since they began their car-ride home from the hospital.

"We're here."

Max undid his belt to shimmy his way over to the door, but he could still hear the sputtering of the exhaust. He was confused. The car couldn't still be going this speed and be home at the same time. The reality hit max like a rush of ice-water down his back. The car screeched to a sudden halt before he could do anything about it. He was thrown forward, in-between the front seats with a gut punching gasp. The air was forced out of his lungs as the barely stifled laughter of his father filled the car. His gut was the least of his pain though. His head and nose had smacked against the hand-brake with the full force of his body behind him.

He groaned as the car went back to its usual speed. His nose throbbed, and his head ached as bad as it did when he first woke up after the attack. He was grateful to still be on pain-killers, if he wasn't he was sure he wouldn't have been able to suffer this and not scream out in pain.

"Daniel!" Max heard his mother rasp. Max didn't expect that. She sounded almost angry. On _his_ behalf? At his _father_? It wasn't something he'd ever thought possible. Then he realized that she must have some sort of ulterior motive, maybe make him think she was on his side and then pull the rug out from under him. Perhaps literally.

"What? It's only a little fun." Max could hear the smirk on his father's face as he dragged himself onto the back seat, feeling around for the seatbelt and strapping himself back in.

Max then felt a small, ticklish, warm drip come from his nose. It rolled onto his lip and he could taste metal. _"Great!"_ He thought, wiping at it with the back of his hand. He felt his blood smudge over his face, thinking that he must've looked quite the sight.

By the time they reached the house, for real this time, the blood on Max's face had dried. His mom had his prescription pain-killers on her. He wondered if he'd ever get his hands on them. Knowing his parents, they'd hoard the lot for themselves and keep using his prescription to get more. He'd never get a taste.

He scooted over to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. _"The fucking child-lock!"_ Max was furious. He heard his parent's doors open and slam closed. Then there was a knocking on the window of his door. He turned his head to face that way, and he just knew his dad was standing there, probably with some shit-eating grin emblazoned proudly on his face.

"You want out?" He heard the muffled voice of his father say.

"Open the damn door!" Max commanded, pushing against it with every bit of strength he could muster.

"Okay."

Suddenly, the door he was pushing his entire body against swung open, and he felt an immediate moment of panic as he felt himself rush towards the ground. But he never hit the concrete. Instead he was yanked to standing by his hood. It took a moment for him to realize he'd been saved. The slamming of the car door right behind him made him jump with fright. Then he flustered red at being caught off-guard so easily.

"This way." The raspy voice of his mother called, and she lead him into the house by the shoulder.

He couldn't understand it. Why was she being such a not-bitch. It made him all the warier of her. He expected his father to take joy in his pain and discomfort. He expected his mother to do nothing about it and screech at him with her banshee like scrawl of a voice, ravaged by decades of chain-smoking.

His father was fulfilling his expectations marvellously, he got an A plus on the report card of shitty parenting.

His mother on the other hand, was confusing him. He associated her foul stench with scathing words and smacks across the head and face. Not helpfulness.

Keeping his hand against a wall, he strode away from her as fast as he dared. He needed to be prepared if his father decided to stick his leg out or something to that effect. He knew the house well enough to make it to his bedroom without issue, and he squeezed in that tiny gap only he could fit through.

He was safe in here. They couldn't get in. Max let out a long drawn out sigh and dragged his feet on the carpet as he slumped against his bed. He could still feel the dried blood on his face and it began to itch. He rubbed at it as he got to his hands and knees. Making sure he didn't hit his head, he crawled underneath the bed and felt around. He had been patting the carpet again and again for what felt like an hour but was in reality only a few minutes.

He pushed himself out from under his bed and climbed up onto the covers, bringing whatever was under his bed with him. He sat cross-legged and fumbled with the lid of the old shoe-box. He reached inside and pulled out something that made the tense build-up in his shoulders lighten a little.

"Mr. Honey-Nuts." He whispered so quietly that someone on the other side of the room wouldn't have been able to hear him. He pulled the bear close to his chest and fell back against the pillow. He buried his face in the bear's. He could feel that single black-button eye against his face and it filled him with reassurances. He _could_ make it through this. He _would_ make it through this!

Make it through what? He found himself thinking. Through being blind? It's not like he could get over this over the weekend. He wouldn't be good-as-new by the time school started again, if anything he'd be worse than ever before. He just wished that the bear he was holding could hold him back, just for a second.

No!

He stopped that train-of-thought immediately. He was the only one he had, the only one he'd have ever again. He'd need to be tougher than steel to make it through the next few years with his parents. He didn't know how difficult it would be to be independent as a blind person, but apparently people do it all the time, so why not him too? But how many 10-year-olds did the same? Well, he was going to turn 11 soon so then he'd be a little bit closer to getting away from them.

He knew he had to wait until he was old enough to live by himself, if he didn't then he'd be forced into foster care. He knew what to expect from his parents, and he could deal with that. If he landed in a family who were just as bad, or potentially worse, he wouldn't know how to deal with them, or know how to avoid them like he did with his own parents.

No, he'd stick it out here for as long as he had to, then fuck off to the other side of the country, or maybe even another continent, and be done with them forever.

But, for now, he had Mr. Honey-Nuts, and the familiar scent of the bear calmed him down. His anger towards his parents slowly began to sap away as he lay there. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't feel sleep approaching at all. In fact, whenever he heard someone walk by his door his anger flared up again, and the idea of sleep went further away.

After what was probably a couple of hours there was a knock on his door. Weird, when he was in his room his parents never visited. If they wanted him then they'd yell for him, and whether or not he came was a different story.

"Max?"

It was his mother. Just like earlier she was defying what he expected her to do. He didn't acknowledge her, hoping she'd go away and leave him alone.

"Max!"

Her short strain of patience had run out, and Max could tell that she was getting frustrated. He smiled, gleeful that she was getting a small taste of her own medicine.

He heard the clatter of wood-on-wood and knew that she had tried to force her way in through the wardrobe. She slammed a couple more times before giving up.

"Fine, you little shit! Here!"

He heard two thuds hit his carpet, one of which rattled like a baby's toy. Then he heard his mother's heavy stomps get quieter and quieter until she was gone.

He shimmied off the bed, and he made his way over to the door, keeping his arms outstretched just to make sure he didn't hit anything. His foot fell on one of the things dropped into his room. He kneeled and picked it up. It was a paper bag, one that smelled of new plastic. He tore it open and a thin layer of plastic was underneath. He felt the package up and down. It felt like 3 cylinders, about a foot long each and thin enough for him to wrap his fist around. One had a thicker grip on the end, and another had a ball or something on the tip. He found the flap of the plastic bag that was meant to be opened and tugged at it.

The bag's contents quickly fell to the floor, hitting Max's feet. He stepped back, cursing himself for being scared by a bundle of sticks. He felt around for the sticks and found two of them, one in each hand. But the sticks seemed to be bound together, end-to-end. Then it clicked. This was one of those white canes that blind people use to tell what's in front of them. He straightened out each segment and heard a metallic "click" as they snapped into place.

He found the handle of the thing and swung the cane around. The ball on the end bounced off everything easily enough. He thought he'd better get some practice with this thing before going back to school. But first, the other package, the one that rattled.

He felt around for this one too, but it must've landed a bit to the side because he didn't find it after what felt like half-an-hour of feeling around. It too was a paper bag, but this one was more crumply, and it tore easily in his hands. The thing that rattled fell to the ground too. The sound let him know where it landed though, so after picking it up he sat down.

It was a bottle, and from the sound of it the things rattling around inside were pills. His painkillers? He was certain he'd never see them again. Maybe his parents weren't utterly devoid of human feeling, but he wasn't surprised to find the bottle's seal broken and about half the pills missing. It was better than nothing, but still, fuck them.

Max put the pills under his pillow, put Mr. Honey-Nuts back in his box and put it back under the bed. He scooted out the door again, the cane in hand, and tapped it all over the ground in front of him as he walked. He felt it bounce off of the walls and a few things that are to be left lying on the ground until Armageddon. He found the front door and as soon as he opened it he heard his father speak up loudly.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Max really wasn't in the mood for this, his father's bulllshitery could only be tolerated for only a few moments a month, and he'd had more than enough of his fill. The car ride home was enough for half the year all by itself.

"Out, to see if this fucking thing actually works." He waved the cane around, hitting the door.

"No."

Max was quickly enraged by his father's refusal. He usually let Max leave the house whenever he felt like it. He was only wanted around if there was someone who needed to be blamed for something, or needed an ass-beating, or anything really that ended in max with a new bruise to add to his black, blue and purple gallery.

"Ha! No? I'd like to see you try and stop me." Max knew beyond a doubt that this was a fight he wouldn't win, but he walked out the door anyway. He fully expected to hear the stomps of his father approach from behind and expected to be grabbed and yanked to wherever he was wanted, but it still took him by surprise when it happened.

He kicked and punched all the way there, wherever there was, but it was utterly futile. His cane had been dropped at some point during the journey, but he'd find it later. He was more worried about where he was being taken now.

When they stopped he was thrown onto something soft but lumpy, probably the living-room couch. The smell told him that more than the lumpiness.

"Why am I on the AIDS couch?" He yelled out, trying to get to his hands and knees. He was pushed down again, forced onto his back. Then it felt like he was being sat on. Probably by his mother given how bony the ass was. His arms were pinned down too.

"Let me the FUCK go!" He began thrashing, trying to swing his fists. His head was held down too, and his left eye was pried open. "No." He whispered. "NO!" His thrashing intensified. Was this some sort of sick joke? Was this their idea of funny? Of-fucking-course it was! Let's make our recently blinded child re-live the attack that changed his life permanently for the worse by doing the exact same thing. Max wasn't going to let it happen again. No matter what, he'd get out of this. He'd throw them off and run, run far away and never deal with them again. That's what he desperately wanted to hope, but he knew full well that there was no getting out of this. He was smaller than them, weaker and unable to see. They could do whatever they wanted.

In the few seconds since his eye was pried open, panic washed over him. Right now was the most scared he'd ever been in his entire life. The first attack was scary, sure, but he didn't know what was happening, and he was too pissed to properly feel fear, and by the time he had the chance to be scared he was in too much pain to care. When he realized he was blind, he was terrified of the prospect of living like this, but he could reassure himself that he'd make it through.

Now was different. He knew what they were trying to do, and that they were doing it for the sole purpose of making him suffer. No more damage could be done, what other reason could they have? Not only that, there'd be no-one to call an ambulance for him when his eyes burned, no doctor to give the impression that he cared, and no nurse with a soft touch. Nothing and no-one could help him.

He was a fool to think that he'd be somewhat safe here. This was the least safe place on the planet for him. These two, these two who he thought might have a shred of decency or humanity within them were going to use their new-found advantage over him to make every waking moment he lived one of agony.

He did the only thing he could think of. He screamed. He screamed loud and thrashed hard, hoping against hope that maybe someone would burst through the door and stop them from damaging him more than he'd already been damaged. Was it them who had it done in the first place? Had they thought it a funny prank to blind their child.

Right now, right in this very moment, Max wanted nothing more than for it to be 5 months ago. He wanted to be back on that stupid camp, with its stupid tents and stupid camp activities, with its jokes for councillors. Gwen, and her dedication to not giving a shit, and David. He had the stupid hope that David would somehow have reset the summer so that he wouldn't have had to go home at the end of it all. He wanted to stay and listen to his retarded songs, he wanted to go back to the campfires, and the god-awful bugs, and even the Quartermaster would've been a welcome presence. He wanted Neil to give the world's worst lecture on the beauty of the NAND logic gate, he wanted to go back to Nikki's wild adventures through the endless forest, and he wanted nothing more than anything to just go to sleep confidant he'd wake up the same as he went, besides a couple of bug-bites.

A smack to the crotch knocked all of the air straight from his lungs. He couldn't scream, and it felt like boiling bile was rising in his throat.

"Stay fucking still, you useless piece of shit!"

Max could only vaguely hear his father's, no, that man's words. He was no father, he never was.

It was in the next second when it all came to an end. He felt little drops fall into his eye, nearly following the tracks the tears left behind.

This was it, the pain was about to burst through his skull. Then his other eye was pried open. The drops fell in there too.

He waited, and waited, and waited with halted breathing for the pain to explode. It didn't. In fact, his eyes felt no different than they had before. Pure rage bubbled in his gut. They weren't even gonna do a proper job of it, just drip water into his eyes to make him think he was gonna suffer. The bastards! They knew that just the fear of it happening again would be enough to make him panic. It was its own brand of malicious cruelty.

The pressures keeping him down rose away and Max tumbled to the floor. His breathing was laboured, and every bit of him was trembling. He rose to his hands and knees and turned to where he could smell the smoke from his mother. No, like the other, she wasn't a mother, she was just "the woman".

He couldn't stand to be in the same room as them anymore. He got to his feet, no-doubt looking like a new-born fawn with how much he was shaking. He heard one of them shuffling in his direction. He moved away, not wanting to be touched by either of them, but stumbled over his own feet and fell to his rear.

He heard the man laugh a low, sheepish laugh, as if what had just happened was no more than the passing of any other minute.

"St-st-st-st-stay away!" He shouted. He got to his feet again and moved to the nearest wall. He didn't care how long it took, or what way he'd hafta do it, but he had to get out of the same room as them. He felt his way around the wall, getting to the door to the hall. They didn't sound like they were following him. That was good, for now. Who knew when they'd feel like striking with another one of these 'jokes'.

He followed the familiar path to his room, squeezed through the door again, dropped to his hands and knees and crawled under his bed. He didn't care that he hit his head on the wooden frame, he just needed to get somewhere they couldn't reach.

He felt himself collide with Mr. Honey-Nuts' shoebox. He knocked the box over and spilled its contents out before him. The bear was the biggest, so he found it first and clutched it to his chest as he fell to his side.

This plush, cotton-filled pile of fabric was the only friend he had in this godforsaken house. It was the only thing that has _always_ been there for him. He couldn't remember when he first held it, only that he named it after an off-brand cereal. He clutched it tight, tighter than he had in years. He needed him now more than he had in years. For the first time in a long time he was scared and felt utterly powerless to do anything about it.

Then he remembered one other thing that he kept in that box. He felt around for it and felt the cheap, uncleaned fabric in his hand. It still smelled of the camp, of the trees and tents he had worn it in. That yellow shirt he refused to show off was now sandwiched between himself and Mr. Honey-Nuts.

Then he thought of the final item he kept in his shoebox, and then thought of how it'd be better off burned than anything else. He'd never need it again after all.

Then Max did something he'd never thought he'd do again. He cried. He cried choked, throaty sobs for someone to come get him, to take him away from all this. For the Quartermaster, Campbell, Gwen or David to just rush in and take him back where he was safe. He wet Mr. Honey-Nuts' fabric with tears of what he knew were pointless hopes. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no-one was coming for him, no-one at all.

He was alone in this world, absolutely alone, with nothing but an inanimate object for companionship, and those two people for personal devils.

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 **Hi everyone, thanks for reading this far, please leave a review, follow, and favourite the story, it lets me know there's interest and motivates me to write faster. Thanks.**


	4. Drops

**Chapter 4**

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Max didn't know how long he was asleep for, but he knew it was hunger and the rumbling of his stomach that woke him. He panicked when he found himself unable to stand up, and he hit his head on some wood. He felt Mr. Honey-Nuts within arm's reach and pulled him to his chest.

After a moment of confusion, he finally woke up properly and remembered. He had scurried under his bed after, after those _**people**_ held him down and forced him to re-live that hellish experience. Then anger flared in him. It was just a joke of theirs, something funny. They probably laughed at him as he ran away from them. He had to feel the walls just to find the way out. They had a good, long laugh at him.

Why the fuck did he react the way he did!? Now they knew how to crack him, how to get through to him and make him fear. Well he wouldn't let it happen again. He was furious that he let himself feel the need to be saved. David wasn't coming, neither was Gwen or the Quartermaster or anybody! Why couldn't he just ingrain that into his brain? He couldn't let himself be wounded like that whenever he stepped outside his room. He'd need to leave at some point. He needed to eat, to shit, and to get his cane back. He wondered if it had been thrown away. Maybe not. The woman had gone to the oh-so-strenuous task of delivering it to him, and they must've spent money on it. There's no way they'd throw it away and make it an even bigger waste of cash.

Max crawled out from under the bed, leaving Mr. Honey-Nuts behind. He didn't need those two to know he still had that bear. He decided to get the cane first. Keeping his ears sharp, he recalled the path from his room to the front door, exactly as he took it before he went to sleep. Sure enough, the stick was left where it had fallen. He took the grip and then made his way to the kitchen, able to go faster now that he had a proper instrument.

He thought it odd that he hadn't heard those people at all. Maybe they had gone out for a while. Good, Max was glad he could eat without their presence as a constant reason to be on guard. Or maybe it was late at night, and they'd gone to bed long before he woke up.

It was just then that Max realized that he had no idea what time it was. He hadn't known the time of day since the doctor told him it was 10 O'clock and that those two were late to picking him up. He had no idea how long he'd slept for, for all he knew it could be the middle of the night.

He'd eat first and then worry about figuring out the time.

He found the fridge and felt around the shelves and the door. There wasn't a massive variety, mostly squishy packets of bacon, a couple dozen cold-shelled eggs, and other chilled processed crap made to go in the oven. Max wasn't going to attempt to use the oven, so he just pulled out the gallon of milk that rested in the door. It wasn't nearly a gallon in weight, he guessed it was maybe a quarter full.

He then felt his way to the cupboard in the corner and began to feel around. He thought it was empty until he pushed his hands in deeper and felt a thin carboard box. It felt mostly full. He fumbled the top open and unfurled the plastic bag inside. He smelled fruit loops.

"Jackpot." He mumbled. He went back to the table he left the milk on and put the box right up against it. Now he just needed to get his hands on a bowl. That was gonna be the pain in the ass part. They were kept in one of the higher shelves, so he'd hafta climb on the counter to get one. He lightly ran his hands over the counter-top, making sure there was nothing broken or sharp in the way. When he was sure it was safe, he hoisted himself up. He felt around for the handle of the cupboard and slowly pulled it open. When he heard nothing on the cusp of falling out he sighed in relief. His fingers slowly traced the porcelain and plastic cups on the bottom shelf. Eventually he found something shorter and broader than the rest. It was a big bowl, fitting for his big appetite. Being as careful as he could possibly be, he lifted the bowl with both hands. The shifting of other things around him made him nervous. When he had the bowl up he began to pull it out, going extra slow to make sure that nothing else came out with it. Then, when he thought he had it safe, he jerked it the rest of the way. He felt the mistake before he fully realized what had happened. The back of his hand brushed against an especially tall cup, and he heard it slip from the shelf. He froze, his heart skipped a beat and he immediately imagined the fury that'd be on those two's faces when they were woken by a shattering cup.

He braced himself for the noise, but beyond a light 'ca-clap' there was nothing.

"Oh, thank god." Max let out a sigh if relief when he realized the cup he knocked out was just a novelty plastic thing. It wouldn't shatter by a fall as short as that. He put the bowl down and lowered himself to the ground again.

After eating the massive bowl of cereal, he put the stuff away again and used the cane to easily find his way to the bathroom.

It smelled, that was nothing new, and it was only after entering the bathroom, with its shower cubicle in the corner, that he realized that he hadn't showered in days, at least not while he was conscious. Maybe he was bathed by a nurse or something while he was out of it. The thought made him fluster, being seen naked by a stranger while he was unable to do anything about it.

Would the shower wake those two up if he turned it on? Would there even be any hot water? He supposed getting clean was at least half necessary for going outside. But, he had his priorities. Shit first, shower later.

His next task was to figure out the time of day. He refused to try and ask those two, at this point he'd swallow glass before asking them to do anything for him. He remembered that there was an analogue clock in the living room, above the fire-place. He'd need something to reach it, but if he could, he could get a feel of the hands to map out the hour and the minutes. He could figure out whether it was night or day just by listening outside.

If he could get a chair from the kitchen into the living room, that'd do. But he was barely able to find his way around without anything big to move, let alone trying get a chair around from place to place. Well, he'd hafta try. He knew exactly the way from the kitchen to the living room, so that'd be the easy part.

It was a trial, but he managed to get the chair into the living-room, and after feeling which way the hands were pointing he figured out that it was about 5:30. Since those two wouldn't be out of the house at this time in the evening, that meant that they were still in bed. That was good. They didn't rise until it was close to noon.

He showered in cold water and dressed in fresh clothes. Fortunately, he was a competent enough human that he could've done both with his eyes closed. After popping a couple of pain killers in his mouth, and storing them under his pillow again, he quietly went out the front door.

It was colder than he remembered. It was still January, so he guessed it was his fault for not wearing more stuff, and it was only a couple of days until school restarted. He was dreading that almost as much as the prospect of living with those two for longer than a week.

For the longest time he heard only his own footsteps and the patting of his cane's ball against the sidewalk. He guessed people wouldn't really be out at a time like this. It was probably still pitch black, and the orange street-lamps were still blazing.

He felt very bumpy ground beneath his feet, and then a step that was rather short that he nonetheless stumbled over. Then he realized what those bumps at traffic lights and at the end of stairs were for, they were for people like him, the blind, to know that they were about to go somewhere dangerous. Before now he never really considered them and thought they were just for decoration.

Thanks to his stick he knew where the other step was and got onto it without stumbling this time. He didn't really know where he planned to go. McDonalds would be closed, and even if it wasn't he wouldn't be allowed to stay for long if he didn't buy something. He cursed himself for not remembering to take money with him, even if it was stolen from that man's wallet. Max thought that food bought with money he stole from _him_ would taste even better just by spite alone.

Maybe if he went to the park and just sat there he'd be able to kill a few hours in peace. With luck he'd be abducted by aliens and he'd have something interesting to tell anyone who might care.

But which way was it? He stopped walking and realized that he didn't know exactly where he was. He wasn't far from the house, he knew that much. Maybe he was on Mable's Street? That was more or less a straight line from his house. If only he could find some sort of landmark to let him know. He recalled a rusted old bike that had been left in an alleyway on Mable's Street. If he found it then he'd be able to start making a mental map of the town, his own personal grid of landmarks.

He kept to the left, waving the stick into each alleyway he crossed to see if that immovable bike was still there. He never found it, and he'd made one-too-many turns to be able to guess where he was.

"Goddammit!" He cursed, throwing his cane to the ground in rage. He crossed his arms and huffed, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to calm himself down.

After regaining his composure, he began to feel around for the cane he discarded. He really hoped no-one else was around to watch him put on a show of himself. He imagined he looked too much like Velma from Scooby-Doo, feeling the ground for her glasses as everything happened around her.

" _At least she had friends to help her."_ He thought, wishing but not admitting that someone would just pick up his stupid stick and give it back to him.

"No!" He growled at himself. He didn't need anyone to help him. He wouldn't ever need someone to help him! Not friends, not those two, not David. He had himself and only himself, and he's all he'd ever need.

He did feel the stick at one point, but in his quickness to pick it up he kicked it further away. He heard the direction it landed and felt the step onto the road. He scowled and hoped that any car that came along would be driven by someone smart enough to swerve around him.

He heard the tires of a car approaching. It was still a bit away and would have plenty of time to go around him if they were paying attention. He still needed to find that damned stick, he wouldn't be getting a second one.

It was getting closer, but there was still time. He told himself that as the car's noises fell heavily into his ears. He could feel the vibrations on the pavement now, and with a sudden wave of panic he knew that whoever was driving thought it too early to worry about other cars or pedestrians.

He cursed to himself. He didn't know which way the sidewalk was now, throwing himself back might just throw him closer or further away from the car, but not by enough. Left? Right? Forward? Backward?

"Shit!"

He was running out of time fast, and hoping he was a lucky guesser, he threw himself to the right.

A splintering crack split the air. For an instant Max thought he was run over, and the pain of cracking bones just hadn't reached him yet.

He didn't want to stand up, worried that if he tried he wouldn't be able to feel his legs. He tried wiggling a toe first and was utterly relieved that no feeling had left it at all. He stood up again, brushing the pebbles from his pants. He wondered what that crack was, then with a punch to the gut he realized that it was most likely his stick that had been crushed. He felt the ground again, this time feeling plastic splinters prickle his fingers. He felt closer and closer to the centre, eventually feeling the handle of the stick. It was lighter, much lighter and when he went to see how much was left he felt only a jagged stab.

"Oh crap." Max heard someone say, followed by a quick and hasty track of footsteps.

"Fuck off!" He yelled, throwing the handle in the direction of the voice and hoping it hit them.

"Are, are you okay, kid?" They asked.

"What the fuck do you think!?" He stood and balled his fists, ready to scratch and bite anyone who came close. "I nearly got fucking ran over!" He was beyond pissed. Everything wasn't shitty enough, apparently, so now he'd hafta find his way around without even the most basic instrument.

Max stormed off in the opposite direction, mind set on going as far away as possible, but he was promptly stopped when he felt his nose collide with a solid surface.

He fell back onto his rear, clutching his bleeding nose as blood streaked down his lips. "Fuck! Fucking shit!" He yelled, just about ready to kill someone.

"Oh god, kid?"

"Fucking what!?"

"Do you like, need to go to the emergency room or something?"

"NO! Just go away." Max kept his hand on the wall this time and continued walking down the street.

He didn't hear the person following him. Good, he didn't want to deal with people now. He didn't want to deal with people ever.

He kept on walking for god knows how long, keeping his hand on the wall the entire time. Eventually the flow of blood from his nose clotted so now he couldn't breathe through it. He stumbled a few times and fell to his knees, but he got back up again and just kept on walking, not caring where the wall led him.

While he was stomping, his foot fell onto something round, making him loose his footing and fall down yet again. Damn near foaming at the mouth, he felt around for the thing he slipped on and picked it up. He was about to throw it until he realized that it felt familiar in his hand. He brought his other hand up to feel the end and sure enough, it was the same jagged end of the thing he'd thrown moments before. That meant he'd just gone around in one big circle!

"Goddammit!" He cursed. He'd been doing that a lot more since he left the house.

He just stood there, breathing heavily, on the verge of screaming.

"Boy." The voice made him flinch. No, it couldn't be, there's no way that man would be up at this time, out of the house and looking for him. Maybe he'd read the clock wrong, maybe it was the evening and he was just going out to get something.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" He put as much venom into the voice as he dared, wanting the man to know that he was feeling scornful yet not so much as to warrant a hit. Then again, maybe he was being looked for so that he _could_ be hit. It wouldn't surprise him.

"I see that you already broke that fucking stick that the hospital gave you. You can't really take care of anything, can you?"

That felt like a punch to the gut, much like most words the man said to him, but these ones stung as well. Of course, the hospital had given them the stick, there's no way they'd pay for one themselves. He was stupid to think that they would've shown him even that little bit of decency.

"And I don't remember giving you permission to leave the house."

"Since when do you want me to ask to leave? As far as I can remember you wanted to have as little face-to-face time as possible." He knew he was digging his grave as he spoke, but he didn't care about that right now, he cared about not appearing weak in front of the bastard.

"You're not allowed to leave the house without _my_ permission because now you're a burden to everyone around you, not just us, and I won't have people _you've_ irritated coming to _our_ door and demanding money for whatever _you've_ done. Do you understand?"

"Tch, I understand that you're full of shit." God, why did he say that? Of all the things he could've said, that had to be the one he chose? He really did have some sort of masochistic death wish.

He had time to react, he could've struggled more and put up a fight, but Max knew that resisting the man's iron-clad grip on his arm would've been useless. He did pull a bit, but his heart wasn't in it. If he was honest with himself, he doubted he would've been able to get home on his own.

He heard the front door of the house swing open and he was flung through it. He was about to get up, but he was pushed down again by the man.

"Little bastard." He growled. "Where do you get the balls to go and cause trouble for me at this hour?"

"Certainly not from you, you cockless asshole." Max said, smirking a shit-eating grin.

He felt the man's foot slam into his stomach, winding him.

"It's about time you learned some damn respect, boy."

Max felt his ankle be snared by the man's grip. He tried digging his nails into the floor as he was dragged, but the carpet gave no grip. He heard another door open and was thrown into this one too. This one slammed shut behind him though, and the click of a lock followed that.

Max pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled to the door like a scuttling beetle and slammed his hands against it.

"Let me out you bastard!"

He got no response, and knew he'd continue to get no response, but he kept slamming his hands against the door anyway. He banged and banged until his hands ached, though that didn't take very long. He thought that he might as well learn his surroundings. Well, he quickly found out that it was a small room, a very small room. He also learned that it was the room the washing machine and dryer were kept in. He also knew that the boiler was kept in this little room too.

Knowing he'd never break the door down, he sat in the corner, drew his knees to his chest, and lamented about how the last week was the worst in his entire life.

He was going to go to sleep, but he heard the boiler come to life. He thought nothing of it at first, but then it started to get warm, really warm, warm enough for him to pull off his hoodie and sweat-stained t-shirt. Soon enough it was so hot that he had to undo his pants and push them down to his shins. If the door was suddenly opened he wanted to be able to pull them back up quickly.

He didn't know how long had passed when that door opened, but when it did he was drenched in sweat and struggled to pull up his trousers. He was grabbed by the arm again before they were all the way up and was dragged out. He was glad to be back out in the cool air but was worried about where he was being taken.

"Where, where the eff are you, are you taking m-me?" He asked, his throat begging for water. He went unanswered.

When he was let go he fell and fumbled for his pants again. His back was stepped on, forcing his face into the carpet. He recognised the smell immediately. This was his carpet, in his room. That meant that this man was in _his_ private area, the place that was his and his alone. When he got out from under his shoe, he was gonna kick him in the balls for this.

"You, you really give me a lot of trouble, ya know that? I mean, you were just a general pain in the ass before, but at least you could look after yourself then. Now what are you? Just a useless little shit, less than anything you were before."

"You shut up!" Max rasped. These words didn't hurt anymore. It was never a secret how much of a burden that man felt he was, vocalising his opinions all at once didn't shake Max. What did worry him were the possible reasons. Why tell him all this now? "If I'm such a goddamn problem for you, why'd you have me in the first place, huh?" Max knew he was an accident, he was never told, but he figured it out after realizing how shitty they'd been compared to other parents he saw. There were no way people like them would ever plan to have a kid. Sometimes he was glad about that fact, if out of nothing else, he liked to spite them with his very existence.

"I didn't."

Max didn't get the chance to think any further into those words. As soon as they were said he was grabbed by the back of the neck and thrown onto his bed. He then felt a hand press down on his back, keeping him firmly in place. He then felt something against his ass.

"What the hell are you- "

He wasn't able to finish that sentence. Instead a scream of shock and pain erupted from his dry throat. A stinging, burning slash had been laid across his backside, no-doubt delivered by the man's notoriously thick belt.

"You are going to fucking _pay_ for all the fucking trouble you cause, boy. Not just for today, for the last 10 goddamn _years_!" The anger in the man's voice was beyond anything Max had heard in the past, at least as far as he could remember.

Another strike, another burn. Max managed to keep himself quiet this time, but he did throw his hands back over his rear, wanting to block the strikes. The man struck again, slashing against his palms. His hands were smarting something fierce, but he wouldn't let the man know that. The next strike went across his shoulder blades. Max arched his back and let out a squeak of pain.

Hands, back, shoulder blades, thighs, ass. He alternated between all of them. He felt the terrible stinging of the broken skin on his hands and let then lay limp by his sides. His underwear was then pulled down, baring his rear.

With a humiliated yell he tried to push himself up, but his face was shoved back into the bed, squashing his already sensitive nose.

The belt ripped across his bare flesh more times than he was willing to count, but one thing Max knew for certain was that the man had been holding back with the belt before. These whacks hurt more terribly than any that came before.

Max was proud of how long it took for him to cry out. It was only a little after he felt a trickle from his butt-cheeks leak down onto his thighs that the whacks became unbearable. The man had given up on hitting everywhere else and focused solely on his rear-end.

Max fisted the covers of his bed with his torn hands and just waited for the strikes to end.

It was a long time before they ended, and when they did, Max's face was buried in a mix of his own nose-blood, tears and snot. His state would've invoked sympathy from even the most stone-hearted person, but even that required that person to have a heart. The man in the room with Max didn't qualify.

Everything was sore. His head, eyes, nose, throat, shoulders, back, hands, ass and legs. It all ached and stung, and Max wanted nothing more in that moment for it all to end. He wanted to sleep, to forget about it all and to just disappear.

" _Goddammit. Why did I ever hafta get stuck with these people as parents."_ Max wasn't a person of faith or spirituality, but he imagined that he must've been a really fucked up person in a previous life to earn this shitty one.

Max didn't want to be strong anymore, he was sick of telling himself that, he was sick of telling himself that he was all he had, all he'd ever have. He wanted someone to help him. Other kids had their parents to look after them. Neil had his nerd of a father, Nikki her slut of a mother, Nerf even had his convict mother who cared about him. Why couldn't _he_ have been adopted by cool-gay-dads like Ered, or at least have a cool uncle like Space-Kid.

He didn't want to always be on the defensive, to always need to keep his guard up, he wanted to be told-

"You deserve to be happy."

His head shot up.

"What?" No-one answered. The room was empty, even that man had left, clearly not caring about Max's bleeding.

"D-David?" He swore he heard the councillor's voice just now, sounding just as sad as it did the night of the parent's evening.

Of course he wasn't coming. Why would he? He was in another part of the country, doing whatever he did during the rest of the year. He imagined David as some sort of nature-trek guy, leading people through nature preserves or mountain paths. Maybe he was a hippie protestor in his spare time, opposing the opening of some new super-store parking lot. Or maybe he just hibernated in Camp Campbell during the other 9 months of the year, restoring energy for the trials of summer.

Despite himself, the thoughts made him smile, and made him wish more than ever that he was with him, the one person he didn't need to pretend around.

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	5. Teacher

**Chapter 5**

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 **Thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed the story, I appreciate it all.**

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The welts still hurt, even though it'd been 2 days since the belting. Max had practically dragged himself into the shower afterwards to wash away the blood dripping down the back of his thighs. It'd been the worst he'd ever gotten it, never had that man made him bleed from a belting before, and he'd gotten quite a few.

He had a new cane, all it took was another trip to the hospital, and he had a pair of those black glasses that the blind wore for some reason. The words "light-sensitivity" rung in the back of his head, but beyond that he didn't care.

Like before, he only had the sputtering exhaust of the car to listen to on the drive to school, the woman was as silent as she had been the last few days. Max still didn't trust her, even after she'd gotten his new cane, and brought his dinners to his room he guessed that she must still be trying to lure him into a false sense of security.

Well he wasn't going to fall for it, he'd learnt better.

"We're here." She rasped out, assaulting Max's nose with the smell of smoke once again.

Without a word he opened the car door and shimmied his way out, careful of his pained rear. His cane waved in front of him as he heard the woman get out too.

She placed a skeletal hand on his shoulder and together they walked into the building Max hated more than any other; his school.

He could tell by the smell. He wasn't sure what the smell was exactly, but it reminded him of stupidity and teachers, two things he hated almost as much as those two people he lived with.

A door was opened, and a hand pushed against his back, forcing him into a stuffy room.

"Good morning Mrs. Anand, and you too Maxwell." The voice of the principal made Max wanna vomit, as did the use of his full name, yet another thing he hated.

"Principal Decker." Her voice rasped.

"I'm so terribly sorry for what happened to you Max, both I and the faculty wish you a healthy recovery." His voice oozed with forced pleasantries, making Max wanna curse at him to stop with the douchey display.

"Yes, we all do." She rasped again.

Max would've scoffed if he knew that man wouldn't hear about it, but he would and the last thing he wanted was to give him a sliver of a reason to take the belt to him again.

"Ah yes!" The principal exclaimed, and the metallic rattle of a cabinet door rang through the room, followed close by the ear-drumming slam shut. "Here is the consent form for the tutor to come in and teach Max during and after school hours."

"What!?" Max yelled, feeling slighted at this news. "What do I need a goddamn tutor for!?" His fist squeezed the handle of his cane, and Max only lightened his grip because it began to sting his still-healing hand.

"Well," The principal began. "due to your disability you'll no longer be able to participate in your classes in the way you did before. So, the school has brought in a tutor to teach you important skills you'll need to go on with your education."

"Oh yeah? What kind of skills?" Max was sceptical, but the more he thought about it, the better this seemed to be. If he had to stay for extra time in school, then he would be with those 2 less. He'd also get out of that god-awful classroom more.

"Most importantly, how to read braille, and how to properly navigate yourself. I'm sure there's more that you'll be told about, but what is important is that you gain these invaluable skills now while you're still young."

It was one of the few things Max heard an adult say in a long time that actually made sense. He would need to know those kinds of things, whatever braille was, if he was gonna get through the next few years under _their_ thumbs.

"Yeah, okay." He shrugged.

"Well then, Mrs. Anand, I'll escort Max to his class, if that's alright with you. The bell will be going any second now."

"Yes, of course." She stood. "I'll, I'll see you later, son."

The word caught Max's attention. _"Another one of her plots to get me to lower my guard. Not gonna work, bitch."_

"Well, we best get going now, Maxwell." The principal said. His chair scraped piercingly on the wooden floor-boards, making Max wince.

The classroom wasn't very far, but the journey was an awkward one for Max. The principal said fake words of reassurance, to which Max responded with grunts and hums.

"Here we are, Maxwell, Ms. White is waiting inside."

Max groaned lowly. He _hated_ Ms. White, she knew it, the whole class knew it, and the feeling was absolutely mutual. She didn't announce it outright, but she'd never miss an opportunity to passive-aggressively mock him or make snide remarks that seem innocent but really have nasty undertones to them.

The door was opened for him and the sickeningly sweet smell of the classroom assaulted his nose. It almost made him gag.

"Mr. Decker," He heard her shrill voice say. "and Max." She added, putting on an air of sympathy that he knew was artificial.

"Ms. White." The principal clapped a hand on Max's shoulder. "I'll leave him with you now."

"Of course."

Max heard the door close behind him.

"You can take the seat closest to the door, if you want." She said. Max ignored her and used his cane to navigate his way to the farthest seat from the door as possible. It was his seat before the Christmas break (and his suspension) and he didn't wanna lose it now, especially since it was right next to a window. He wouldn't be able to tolerate a single hour in this room if he wasn't next to some ventilation. If Ms. White took issue with that she didn't say anything. Maybe she wasn't enough of a cancerous scrotum to pick on a blind kid.

It was only minutes before the rest of the drivel began to file into the room, chatting about nothing important. At least, that's what Max assumed. He heard some conversations suddenly stop when they came into the room. He guessed that if he could see then he'd see them leering at him. Then again, if he _could_ see then there'd be nothing interesting to leer at in the first place.

White went through the standard "welcome back" spiel, and of course the class was assigned an essay on how their Christmas was. Max wondered if he was expected to do it, with him not being able to see and all. It didn't matter really, he wouldn't have done it either way.

He didn't stand for the pledge either, another form of rebellion that landed him in detention before but had been since accepted as an inevitability. His teacher last year had been a blue-blooded Republican who probably would've caned Max were it not illegal. At least in this state.

Max tapped his fingers on the desk, his butt smarting while he tried to drown out the incessant chattering of the woman.

"Psst, Max?" He heard someone say from behind him.

"Hm? What?" He whispered back.

"You really blind or you fuckin' with us?" The person said. It took him a second to place the voice, but he realised it was Clint, a douche. Then again, that was par for the course for this class.

"Yeah, I'm fucking blind you dick!" He didn't try to keep his voice down. Ms. White's voice stopped when he exclaimed, and he knew that everyone was looking at him. Even if he couldn't see them he could _feel_ their stares.

"Is there a problem, Max?" Ms. White asked in a sickly-sweet voice. He was glad he couldn't see her swamp-brown hair, or splotchy pock-marked skin. If he could he'd probably vomit at the sight of her right now.

He sat back in his seat, much to the argument of his welts, and huffed.

"No." He said, not wanting to draw on the issue.

"Then please be quiet and do not disturb the rest of the class." She turned and started to speak again as she wrote on the board.

God, she was a bitch. She spoke down to him with such an infuriatingly condescending tone that he felt like throwing his desk at her. She never used it on anyone else, just him. Maybe when someone was particularly disruptive, that wasn't him, she'd use it on them, but it didn't matter when or why she spoke to Max, she always used that tone.

Max thought she was racist for a while, given how she picked on him above anyone else, but then that idea got shot like Bambi's mom when he saw her on the arm of an Indian man outside of school one day shortly before Halloween. That pissed him off more than if she actually were racist. At least then she'd have hated all people that looked like him. But no, it was specifically him that she disliked. Maybe the rest of the staff had turned her against him before she ever started teaching him. It seemed the most likely answer after a bit of consideration.

She continued to droll on and on for another half-an-hour before the bell rang, telling everyone it was time for recess, but Max was told to stay back. Was he about to get a detention for speaking out loud during her class? On the first day back no less? It didn't surprise him, it seemed just like the kind of thing she'd do. She didn't even have the decency to do it in front of everyone else and come off as a cunt for giving the blind kid a hard time.

"What?" He said after carefully manoeuvring his way up the aisle, stepping over and kicking aside backpacks.

"You should speak with a bit more respect, Max." She said, following it up with her signature irritating chuckle. "Your tutor wanted to meet you as soon as possible, so I have been asked to take you to him during recess."

"Bullshit!" Max cursed. Not only was he going to have to suffer through this whore's lessons for hours on end, but now he had to give up his free time to some godforsaken tutor? This was fucking planned. By that principal, by this bitch, planned to drive him nuts by working him all day. He wouldn't be surprised if those two he lived with had a hand in this too. A tired target was a weak target after all.

"Language, Max. If you're not able to hold your tongue, then I'll need to take you to the principal's office before taking you to your tutor."

"No!" He declared. "I hafta put up with you talking on and on for hours then during my only break I hafta spend it learning new shit too! Hell no." He crossed his arms and hoped his speech came off as intimidating and absolute.

"Now Max," He could hear the condescending frown in her voice. "we need to work around the tutor's schedule. If you have a problem with that then you may ask the principal about it."

"Then I think I will." The principal was going to hear about this, so would the tutor, whoever he was.

Ms. White sighed. "We don't have time for this. I'll forget about your language _this_ time, but it won't happen again, Max."

"Suuuure it won't." He smirked to himself, glad that he managed to get one over on the bitch on the first day back. "Let's just get to the tutor already." He wanted to see what kind of person he was going to have to deal with and if they were worth giving up his recess for. He doubted it but wanted to see nonetheless.

Ms. White led him silently out of the classroom. She was probably mulling over the humiliation of being owned by a 10-year-old blind boy.

"This is the room, Max, number 56 on the first floor."

"Gee thanks, wanna wipe my ass too while you're at it?" He smirked again, hoping that being obscene would irk the woman more than regular back-chat.

"Oh, I didn't know that you were affected _that-way_ too, Max. I'm sorry I didn't realise things were quite so severe." Her voice was oozing with fake concern, some of which Max knew he'd earned, another bit he knew was just part of her personality. Even so, he blushed a little, not expecting her to turn his comment back on him like that.

"Whatever." He reached out for the door, fumbled to find the handle, but was startled when the door was pulled open from the other side.

"Shit!" He cursed lowly after almost losing his footing.

"Ah, I was wondering where you were. You must be Max Anand." It was a man's voice, soft and easy on the ears, with an English accent distorted by years of living away from home.

"Yeah, that'd be me." He replied, thinking this man sounded more tolerable than the woman who had led him here.

"Well, we can begin immediately. Please come in." He gingerly placed a hand on Max's back, inclining him in the direction to walk. He didn't hear him acknowledge Ms. White at all, but he didn't seem the type, so he assumed the man had nodded at her or something. He didn't really care.

The door was closed with a soft 'click' and Max was guided to sit in a chair.

"My name is Walter Duval, Max, and we're going to be spending a lot of time in each other's company for the next few months. I'm going to teach you to do many things those of us who can't see need to be able to do in order to properly function in today's world."

So, this guy was blind too. In hindsight Max should've expected it, who else to teach a blind boy to see the world again than a blind man?

"Do you have any questions for me, Max?"

Max thought about it for a moment, and yeah, he did have a few things he'd like to ask the man.

"How'd you go blind?"

Walter chuckled. "That's usually a first for others too. I don't have an exciting story I'm afraid, I was born without sight."

"Oh, uh, that's rough I guess." Max said, not wanting to piss off this guy he'd be forced to spend a lot of time with. If he was going to get out of class, he wanted to at least be able to look forward to it.

"Oh I wouldn't say so," Walter said, surprising Max with how nonchalant he seemed about the whole thing. If he'd never been able to see he'd be pissed at whatever god made him that way, not that there was one. "it's quite difficult to miss something you never had, or even longed for."

Max hadn't thought about it like that, but he immediately knew that the effect wasn't transferable to every aspect of life. For example; he never had good parents, yet there he was missing the ones that never existed.

"I learnt to read and to write in a different way to my peers, but I learnt nonetheless and to no lesser degree."

"You can write?" Max asked, completely in the dark as to how that'd work. Would he hafta learn how each letter felt and then just join them together, or would there be some other convoluted method?

"Oh yes, quite well too, if it's not too arrogant to say." Max could hear a light smile on his face.

"How?" He wanted to know immediately, then he could tell his teacher to "fuck-off" in blind-speak.

"By the miracle of braille, Max."

"The principal said something about that. What is it?"

"Hmm, have you ever seen those little dots on things like public signs, or perhaps on the centre buttons in phones?"

After thinking about it Max remembered. He'd never really questioned them and like the bumps on the edges of paths he assumed they were for show.

"Yeah?"

"Those are braille. Small examples to give those like us a chance to know what's what in this world. Now, since you already know how to read, I hope, learning braille will be a simpler task for you than those born blind, or those who became blind before learning to read. You will only need to learn the braille symbols that correspond to letters of the alphabet you already know, and string them together to form words and sentences and the like."

"Is that it?" Max asked, hesitant to believe that it'd be that easy.

"Well, I know that there's a few symbols you'll need to learn to interpret written punctuation, such as commas, full-stops and question and exclamation marks."

"Full-stops are periods, right? I know that you English people call things weird different names sometimes."

Walter guffawed at that. "Well you won't have to worry about me inviting Her Majesty over for crumpets and tea, if that's what you're worried about."

Max smirked, thinking that that was the most English sentence he'd ever heard in his life. "Pfft, who cares about an old rich woman." Max said, thinking that that might've offended Walter.

"Too right. Though I do have tea here, in case you were wondering. Black tea, I don't drink the herbal stuff you Americans defile the name with. Though from the name, I'd wager a guess that you're at least part Indian, Max. Am I right?"

"Yeah." Max answered plainly. His heritage wasn't exactly something he wanted to discuss, specifically the immediate ancestors.

"Yes, India does make some of the nicest tea, so I must thank your culture, Max, I'm eternally grateful." Walter laughed again, lightly showing that he wasn't to be taken seriously.

"Eh, I can leave tea, it's coffee I like. Strong and black. Keeps me aware, ya know."

"Well you've a stronger palette than I, Max, I never could stand the taste of coffee, or even the smell. It's always been to strong for me."

"Hmph, weakling." Max declared, crossing his arms.

"I guess so." Walter chuckled. "In any case, we should get started, don't you think."

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	6. Baby & Braille

**Chapter 6**

 **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favourited. I appreciate all of it.**

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Max's first lesson with Walter didn't go exactly how he thought it would, but it was interesting to say the least. He'd started by having Max feel different types of surfaces, like tile, brick, wood and carpet. He said that;

"You'll need to train your sense of touch a bit before you'll be able to read braille properly."

Walter himself hadn't had any issue learning braille, at least not in this regard. Apparently, there was merit to idea that if you lose one sense the others are heightened. He had always had a keen sense of touch, something Max would need to pick up.

He didn't pay attention when he'd gone back to class, maths was extraordinarily dull after a lesson with Walter. In fact, he was so interested in what the man had to say that he'd forgotten to chew him out on having the lesson fall during recess. It didn't matter much though. Walter had brought food with him, sandwiches with ham and cheese or coleslaw. He'd even had biscuits and tea, as typical as it was for an Englishman.

When he went back to that office for the after-school lessons he was greeted by the sound of classical music, accompanied by Walter's soft humming.

"I find that music helps to relax me, especially Bach. Have you ever listened to any of his works, Max?"

Max hadn't, at least not knowingly, but Walter didn't seem surprised. Walter even made the point of saying that music sounded much better on vinyl that it did on tape or digital. Max only knew what vinyl was after Walter described them as;

"Those big rough disks on turn-tables, with the scraping needle. Very old-fashioned things, but my mother always had one in good nick, and always put it by my bed if I was sick. I'm told the difference in sound is noticeable, especially to those who turn blind."

Walter had spent half that lesson just talking with Max as they listened to the songs play one after another. Walter admitted that today the music was coming from his phone, but that he'd get the vinyl player in for one lesson and show Max the improvement in sound quality.

This kind of music wasn't really Max's cup of coffee, not typically, but Walter spoke about with such reverence that Max couldn't help but be engrossed too. By the end Max had only felt more surfaces and was given the homework of feeling around as many different things as he could and defining their textures in his own head.

A sudden burst of a rooster's cry made Max jump and pull his hand away from a swatch of what felt like gravel.

"Ah, that'll mean it's half 4, the end of our session for today, Max." Walter said, pulling the swatch away. "Same times tomorrow."

"Oh, okay." Max said, feeling like that hour-and-a-half didn't last long at all.

There was someone already waiting to pick him up when he left the school. He smelled her smoky scent before she even spoke. He followed the sounds of her footsteps, making sure to keep a healthy distance between himself and the woman.

The car-ride home was accompanied by the sound of that ruddy exhaust again, as it always was. Max reflected on the complete shift of mood he had from when he left Walter's lesson to now. Not 15 minutes ago he was laughing and chatting with a person who understood what he was going through, and who was genuinely trying to help him. Now all he had was this bitch, who wouldn't even ask him how his first day back was.

It wasn't that he cared about what her thoughts were, or that he was surprised or disappointed by her lack of interest, he just thought that in her streak of trying to lure him in to a false sense of security, she'd have asked.

The car pulled to a stop and the exhaust puttered out. He was making his way to shimmy out the door but was stopped when she spoke.

"Max," She said, as if it pained her throat to rasp it out. "you should know, I'm pregnant."

Max stilled. Pregnant? As in another child? As in an extension to this weed of a family tree? He didn't think the woman would've been able to sustain another child in her, not with everything she put into her body. Her smoking alone was enough to leave half a dozen women barren.

"I don't see what that has to do with me." He said as he slid out the car door.

The front door was unlocked, and he wasted no time in making him way to his bedroom. He was sure that whore teacher had given the class homework but even if he could do it he wasn't going to. He was much more interested in completing the task Walter had set for him.

As he went around his toom, really feeling anything he could get his palms on, the woman's words rang in his head. So there was to be another person in this house before too long. He wondered if the man had been told, and if he was so pissed off that he just up and left. Maybe that was why Max hadn't heard him since arriving home. If that was the case then the next few years just became a whole lot easier.

That little hope was dashed when he heard the front door slam closed, along with the man's muffled yelling.

Max closed his bedroom and sat down in the corner.

"Where's the little fucker!?" He heard the man yell out.

" _What the fuck have I done this time?"_ Max asked himself, knowing full well that even if there wasn't a good reason for it, the man would find some way to justify what he was about to do.

He heard the footsteps thunder towards his bedroom door. He hated that the wardrobe had been moved out of the way of the door, now they could just come and go as they pleased.

"Danial, wait!" The woman yelled, and the thundering footsteps stopped.

"What Sashi? I've had a piss-poor day and-"

"There's something I need to tell you." The woman interrupted him.

"Well spit it out, I don't have all day." By the tone of his voice the woman knew to be quick about it.

She paused again. "I'm, I'm pregnant, Dan. About 2 months along by what the doctor says."

So, this was the first time the man had been told too. Max wondered how he'd react. Would he be furious that another brat was gonna invade their lives? That was Max's first guess, and he'd put money on it too.

"That's…"

" _Here it comes."_

"Wonderful!"

Max had to shake his head, just to make sure that he wasn't hearing things. The man was _happy_ to hear that he was going to have another mouth to feed, another pain in the ass to deal with? It was fake. That was what Max decided. He was taking the piss out of the woman, building up her hopes just to beat them down again.

He decided not to listen to anymore of their conversation, wanting to keep his version of the story true in his own head.

His thoughts went back to Walter, and how different that man seemed from all the rest. He didn't talk to Max like he was crap, like those 2 outside or the bitch-teacher did, he spoke to Max like an actual person. He almost reminded him of David in that sense. For most of the Summer David has been insufferably chirpy and upbeat, to the point that Max had wanted to shatter his kneecaps. But then there was the night of the Journey of the Swallow, or whatever it was called, and the parent's day, where David had shoved off his usual persona and spoke like someone who saw Max as more than just a pain.

He'd lost that as soon as Summer ended, and he was forced to go home with those two. Then he remembered, he might be able to get that back again. Summer was going to happen again, and people older than him still attended the camp. Maybe those two would ship him off again to get him out of their hair for 3 months. None of the other kids would be there, probably, but David would, and maybe Gwen if she hadn't gotten a real job yet.

He'd just have to last until June. Well, it was an easier trial than lasting 'til he was 18, that's for sure.

" _That new kid'll be born when I'm gone."_ He thought, thinking that that was at least a consolation. He wouldn't hafta put up with it's crying and shit. Maybe those two would be so busy with the baby that they'd forget him at the camp, and he could go into hibernation with David, or maybe take that massive mansion on Spooky Island that Quartermaster used for his orgies. On second thought, he's be staying clear of that mansion. Even if he couldn't see anything anymore, just the thought of being in a place where all _that_ happened made him shudder.

The following morning in school he wasn't asked for his homework, surprisingly, and didn't pay attention until the recess bell rang. Now was time for his class with Walter.

The man was again humming to classical music, stopping only to greet Max. The music sounded quite different than yesterday's. What was playing now sounded very sombre and organ-heavy.

"You did as I asked?" Walter asked, the music coming to a stop.

"Yeah." Max answered, the first time in a long time he truthfully said "yes" to a homework question.

"Good good. Since I can't verify if you did or didn't I'll just take your word for it."

The lesson was mush the same as yesterday's. So was the one after that, and the one after that. It wasn't until next Monday that there was a great change in the status quo.

"I believe that we've done enough sensitivity training by now, Max. Do you agree?" Walter asked 10 minutes into their after-school lesson.

"Yeah," Max said. Though he still enjoyed Walter's company and the lessons they did together, he was getting a bit bored of having to do the same homework every night for the last week. He was eager to move onto the next step. He was sure he'd felt just about every inch of his bedroom, as well as the living room and kitchen when those two were either asleep or out of the house. "definitely."

Walter chuckled. "I thought you might."

Max heard a zip, a shuffling and a clatter of something falling onto the desk in front of him. He heard Walter stand next to him, and then he felt the man's hand on his own.

"Today I'm going to familiarize you with the braille alphabet, okay Max." He said, his voice as soft as silk and as reassuring as the feel of Mr. Honey-Nuts.

Max let his hand be guided to a cold, metal plate. At first touch it felt very grainy, as if sugar had been carelessly poured over it. But these grains didn't move around or stick to his fingers. They were very stationary, and very pronounced.

"Each braille letter lies on a 6-dot grid, Max, and a different combination of bumps on a grid symbolises a different letter. For example," Max's arm was pulled a bit farther, making him lean forward in his chair. "this one is the letter 'A'. Its only bump is in the top-left corner."

Max ran his fingertip around the area Walter guided it to. There was a very shallow dip in the metal, longer than it was thick, and Max did feel a single bump, and it was in the top-left corner, just as Walter said.

"The next one is 'B', and _its_ bumps are the top-left and middle-left. Do you feel it?"

"Yeah." Max said.

They spent the rest of that lesson going through the remainder of the braille alphabet, and the punctuation marks to go with it. Max got a lot of them confused at first, but after going through the whole thing a few more times he was a bit more confidant. He still didn't know them by heart when Walter's rooster alarm went off.

"You've done well today, Max, it usually takes a little while to learn them all off by heart. Most do in 2 or 3 weeks, so you're off to a really good start."

As soon as he heard those words, Max felt something flutter in his chest that he couldn't describe off the top of his head. Maybe it was pride? Maybe. He hadn't ever really had anything to be proud of, school-wise. That was if you discounted Max's historically large detention file. He was sure he'd give Bart Simpson a run for his money with the amount of trouble he'd gotten into. It was only then that he realized that he hadn't been issued a detention since restarting school.

" _Bastards are taking pity on me."_ He thought. Though if he was being honest with himself, he was glad of that, if for no greater reason than he heard the whore Ms. White's shrill voice fewer times.

Max was allowed to take the braille alphabet home to get in some extra practise, and for once he did more work than was expected of him. By the following Monday he was able to read a few short sentences, albeit rather slowly. Nevertheless, Walter was pleased with his progress and even kept true to his promise of bringing in the vinyl player. They spent an hour of the after-school lesson on Wednesday listening to some Hans Zimmer.

Max had been surprised to hear that Hans Zimmer wasn't a long dead music creator who was prodigious and died tragically young. He was a modern music composer still breathing and making music for some of the biggest movies around. 'The Lion King', 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and 'The Dark Knight' were just some of the movies Max saw that Zimmer did the music for. He even recognised some of the pieces of music when they played.

When Walter's rooster yelled out Max knew this lesson was over. Too bad, he'd been enjoying it.

" _It's not like I won't be back tomorrow."_ He thought to himself. Walter's lessons had been the only reason he found school tolerable now. With Ms. White's near constant patronizing, and the sneers of a few douchebags in his class, he nearly considered just not showing up. It wouldn't have bothered half as much if he could see who was mocking him. Then he could exact revenge. Now the only option he had left was to try and link the voices to faces he'd known before being blinded. That proved to be a bit more difficult than he anticipated, since any names he'd learnt had been too forgettable by his standards.

There were a few, like Clint, whose Brooklyn accent stuck out to him, and Sarah, who was Irish, and pronounced all her 'th's as 'd's and forgot a 't' if it was at the end of a word. Ms. White of course, though Max considered listening to her voice to be nothing short of a torturous experience. Let's see, who else was there? He could put a few more names to voices just by memory alone, like Derek, Adam and Lydia, who were often told off for talking to each other from across the classroom. Max didn't care enough after that to try and commit anymore to memory, he'd learn them again as he went if he needed to.

"Oh, by the way, Max, I won't be able to make our classes tomorrow."

"What?" Max snapped, perhaps a bit too harsh but he didn't care about that at the moment. What possible reason could Walter have for not making it to their lessons? Didn't he know that these were the only reason Max found the will to get out of bed in the morning? Okay maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but the point still stood. "Why?"

"I have a dentist appointment at 10 in the morning, I'm getting a wisdom tooth pulled. Nasty business let me tell you, and dreadfully sore. Pray you never get them, and if you do get them pulled quick. You **don't** want to put up with these when your day job requires a great deal of speaking." He chuckled at himself, but Max didn't find this funny at all.

"What about our lessons?" He asked, hoping to maybe guilt the man into staying despite his dental issues.

"Oh don't worry, I've organised a substitute. My own husband in fact. Damien has lots of experience teaching those with disabilities, particularly the blind, it's actually how we met," He chuckled as if he were recalling a fond memory. "but he knows exactly where we are in terms of your progress and knows just what to teach. He'll take good care of you."

Max paused. Walter was gay? He knew just by listening to him that he wasn't exactly Mr. Macho, and his light footsteps and soft hands suggested someone small and, well, delicate. He wouldn't have guessed it.

"I guess that's fine." Max huffed. "Is he one of us?"

Walter bellowed out laughter at that, but quickly caught himself with a small groan, no doubt his wisdom tooth punishing his happiness.

"No, he sees just fine from what I'm told, and just has a passion for helping those who can't help themselves. Believe me when I say you'll be in good hands." The way Walter spoke just now was softer than usual, and Max doubted if the man noticed. Hell, he probably wouldn't have noticed before he started listening to people's voices more than their words. He imagined that that's what someone sounded like when they were actually in love. He never heard the man and woman he lived with speak to or of each other like that. The closest he could think of was when she'd told him she was pregnant.

"Well, I guess he must be fine if you say so."

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 **Thanks.**


	7. Debt

**Chapter 7**

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 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited this story, I appreciate all feedback.**

 **To** **Chickenspoon42: Well I hope this chapter fulfilled both of your hopes, regarding Damien and Max's Parents. Though this isn't the be-all end-all of their characters.**

 **To** **Blue Feather Pegasus: Thanks you! To be perfectly honest I don't find it that difficult to write from Max's perspective, because I just put myself in his shoes and react the way I think someone like him would react.**

 **To** **neoxistatehuaki: Don't worry, your English is fine :) Though the word is "story", not** **"histori".**

 **To RCRC36: Thanks bruh**

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The next day rolled around like nothing special, and once again Max was standing outside that office door, about to go into his lesson with Walter. Only it wasn't Walter today, it was Damien, Walter's husband. Thinking about it rationally, Walter had said that he'd met Damien as a sort of caretaker for the blind, so he _must_ be as good as the other man? Right?

That wasn't really what made Max anxious to go in though. He knew he could trust Walter from the moment he knew the man was blind too. He knew the struggles Max had, and the ones he'd have for the rest of his life. He could relate and sympathise. Damien couldn't. He might feel sympathy for Max, and understand his trials, he _was_ married to a blind man after all, so he'd hafta know. Right?

When he decided that there was no putting it off any longer, Max felt around the door for the knob and twisted it. The door squeaked open on it's old hinges and stopped with a dull _**thud**_. He made sure the doorway was clear with his stick before walking in.

"You must be Max." A deep, booming voice. Max was taken aback, nearly stumbling as he heard the words. They absolutely dominated the room, drowning out everything else and making you give them their full attention. Then, Max had a thought, a bizarre thought but a thought nonetheless.

"Liam, Liam Neeson?" He asked, absolutely sure that the actor had somehow managed to disguise himself as the gay husband of a blind blindness-instructor.

"Ha." The man chortled. "You're not the first to think that, not even the first blind person."

Max heard the legs of a chair scrape against carpet and the heavy footsteps of the man approach him. He stepped aside, letting the man go as he wanted. He certainly wasn't going to stop him. If he _was_ Liam Neeson, and Max was almost certain he was, then he wasn't going to challenge the Irishman. They were raised on bar-fights, war with the English, and whiskey after all. He wasn't stupid enough to try and challenge that.

"I'm afraid I'm just plain old Damien Duval. Please, take a seat."

Max sat in his usual seat. He heard "Damien" sit across from his and shuffle a few things around.

"So, Walter tells me that you're reading fairly well. Is that true?"

"I guess. Walter says I'm doing pretty well for how long I've been learning. So, yeah." He didn't really know what to say to this guy. Since he couldn't be sure he wasn't Liam Neeson he couldn't say anything stupid or embarrassing. The man's an unstoppable badass.

"Okay." He paused. "You have the braille block with you, yes. You've been practicing at home?"

"Oh, yeah!" Max pulled his bag up onto his lap, zipped it open, and felt around for the cold piece of metal. "Here it is." He lay the sheet down carefully, not wanting to drop it from too high and give Damien a fright like he did with Walter a few days ago.

"I'd like you to start by reading these few lines. Can you do that for me, Max?" He heard something be placed in front of him, and his hand be guided to the top of it. It felt like a really thick sheet of paper, not quite cardboard, but something a good bit thicker than usual. He ran his hand over it and felt the solid bumps of braille.

"Okay, this is, um…"

" _That's a 'h', an 'e', 2 'l's and an 'o'."_

"Hello, my, name, is, John, Doe, period." He finished.

"Good. Keep going." Max continued to feel the bumps but was distracted by "Damien's" movements. He heard a thump of something heavy being set on wood, a slight scratching, and then music filled the room.

"I, live, in, New, York, and, eat, hot, dogs, for, breakfast, period."

The music was in a language he couldn't understand, but if he had to guess he'd say it was French.

"I, think, all, tourists, should, be, round, up, and, deported, to, Cuba, after, being, beaten, with, bats, period. The, animal, not, the, wooden, one, period."

Max paused and felt the bumps again, just to make sure that he'd read it right.

" _Yeah, these are all right."_ Then he laughed, a small chuckle at first that quickly grew to a fit of laughter that almost drowned out the music.

"Which part did you get to?" Damien asked. Max had been so caught up in interpreting the braille that he didn't notice when the man had moved behind him.

"The, the tourists and the bats." Max answered through giggles.

"Really? Hm, I thought that a fairly weak stab at comedy. Read on sure, and see what you think of the rest."

Max did so in earnest, and as he read more and more of Damien's sheet, the harder it got to keep in the giggles. He was treated to such gems as: "Who was the best Jewish cook? Hitler." and "Why should you be scared of a white guy in prison? You know he actually did it.". All the while he was being drowned out by the voice of some French woman.

"Edith Piaf is her name, and she has the voice of a seraphim."

After finishing the sheet, by which time Max's gut was sore from laughter and his eyes were tearing up, Damien had begun to tell him about the braille for numbers, and alternate characters.

They hadn't finished by the time the session ended, but Damien said they'd continue in the after-school session, and that in the meantime he had to pick up his no-doubt delirious husband from the dentist's.

"I'll let you listen to the video later. He'll curse me for it but by Christ it'll be going up on YouTube if I have anything to say about it."

That left Max in a good mood for the rest of the day, to the point that the whore had called him out a couple of times in class for giggling at the jokes Damien had put on the sheet.

As class ended he made sure to ask a couple of people if they'd gotten a look at Damien at all. Lydia said she'd seen a guy who wasn't a teacher out of the window after Max came back from his lesson.

"Okay, was he Liam Neeson?" He asked with nary a hint of irony in his voice.

"Um…no. Unless Liam Neeson is 5'7" and ginger, that was not Liam Neeson." She said.

With the knowledge that he wasn't being tutored by the guy from Taken he went to the familiar office once again.

True to his word, Damien let him listen to the video of Walter, and it was funnier than the man's sheet. Walter's usually prim and proper language was slurred and bastardised by whatever laughing gas he was hooked up to. Damien's sonorous giggling in the background was both amusing and terrifying.

"So, are you 5'7" and a ginger?" Max asked as soon as the video ended.

"5'9" actually." He responded.

"Ooh, but the ginger part was true. Shame. Just when I thought we could be friends." Max said with a smirk.

Damien chuckled at him. "Anything else you want to get out of the way now? I've heard it all so just save both of us some time and say them now."

"Hmm…?" Max pondered for a moment. "Do you have a soul?"

"Ah come on now, at least try to be original. Walter told me you had a sharp tongue."

Well, Damien was certainly more silver-tongued than Walter, that was for sure.

They continued with the alternate characters for a while, until a question suddenly burst into Max's head, and before he could really think about it he was compelled to say it.

"Hey, what does Walter look like?"

Damien went quiet for a moment before answering. "Walt's a little taller than myself, about 5ft 11. His hair's a very dirty blonde, his eyes are grey, and he's very pale. Though none of those descriptions mean anything to him."

Max now had a mental image to work with when picturing Walter, and the more he thought about it, the more that description suited Walter's voice and demeanour.

"What," Max hesitated before asking this next question. He almost bit down on his tongue he was so reluctant. Did he really want to know? What if he didn't like the answer? He'd just hafta deal with it then, like he did with everything else. "What do _my_ eyes look like?"

Damien paused again, moving around to no doubt get a better view of Max's eyes. He then realised that with him looking down that question would be difficult to answer. The doctor had said that his eyes had lost colour, or something like that, but were they completely blank or just a paler shade of green? He lifted his head and opened his eyes wide.

"Well, I can't answer 'til these come off." Max then felt the rims of his darkened glasses lift from his ears and nose. He'd forgotten that they were even on in the first place.

Again, Damien paused.

"They're,"

Here it comes, the answer he didn't want.

"They're a very pale green, very pale. And a bit bloodshot too."

Bloodshot? That didn't make sense. Max hadn't even shed a tear in ages, let alone cry enough to get bloodshot eyes. If Damien was telling the truth, and he had no reason not too, then Max would need to come up with an excuse, and fast. The last thing he wanted was for Damien, or anyone else for that matter, to think he was weak.

"Oh, umm…that's from the, uh…" Max stammered and stuttered around his excuse, his own tongue vaulting over his words in an act of rebellion.

"You've been using your eye-drops regularly, right?" Damien asked, his voice oozing with both concern and scolding.

"Eye-drops?" Max asked, not remembering any eye-drops.

"Surely the doctors would've given you some eye-drops to take? I've never heard of a case of someone being blinded later in life and _not_ taking eye-drops to some degree. Unless of course their eyes were plucked out, but that's a completely different kettle of fish altogether."

Eye-drops? Eye-drops? Eye-drops. Eye-drops!

Max suddenly recalled the doctor's words;

" _The point of these is to make sure that your eyes don't get infected, and they'll help with the healing process. Tilt your head back please."_

He then recalled the slight sting those drops gave his eyes, but that was about 3 weeks ago now, and he couldn't remember using them again.

"Uh, yeah, there were eye-drops, but I haven't been using them." He said, as casually as describing the weather. He was pretty sure he heard Damien choke, but decided to ignore it.

"That's, that's _not_ a good idea, Max. In fact, that's what we in the business call: "a bad idea"."

"It's not a big deal," Max said shrugging. "I'll just start using them now."

"No," Damien said, moving closer to Max. "I'll hafta take a look at 'em before we move on."

"Are you a doctor or something?" Max huffed.

"Almost. I did Medicine in Trinity, got a master's degree," He tilted Max's head back and lightly pulled at his eye-lids. Max was on the verge of worrying flashbacks, but the voice of Liam Neeson calmed him. "but I got sick of it and got a doctorate in Speech and Language Therapy in UCC instead. Much better company."

"I don't know what either of those are." Max said as his right eye began to water.

"Irish colleges. Think Harvard, Yale and Brown, but less bank-breaking." Damien's voice began to drift off, as if concentrating intently on something else.

After the other eye was checked Max rubbed the crick out of his neck.

"Nothing seems out of the ordinary,"

"Except that they don't work."

"Yes, except that they don't work, but there doesn't seem to be an infection or inflammation of any kind. I imagine they just got irritated when you sleep. Are you a stomach sleeper?"

"Yeah." Though that was just a developed habit after he got belted a few times.

"I'd recommend sleeping on your back for a while, or get yourself a good sleeping mask. That should reduce the redness and the risk of infection. Also, change your pillow covers often and use. Your. Drops." He enunciated those last words with pokes to Max's forehead. Then his glasses were re-placed on his ears. He straightened them.

"Right."

They continued the lesson as before, until Damien said it was time to go, and that his friend was probably sick of Walter by now.

"Hopefully we'll meet again, Max. It's not usual for me to get such an interesting patient." The man chuckled.

"Gee thanks, I feel so special." He deadpanned.

At home things were much less jovial. The man was stomping and pacing the kitchen, grumbling under his breath as if he were plotting to steal Christmas.

He let him be and immediately went to his room. The woman also didn't see fit to annoy him with chatter. She'd been doing that a lot lately, not that he was complaining. Let her fawn over that growth in her stomach, it'll be no skin off his nose.

While he'd been reading some of his braille sheets there was a knock on his doorframe that made him jump. The smoky scent that assaulted him made it clear who it was.

"We're having someone over. Don't leave this room until they leave, or else your father will take the belt to you again."

He didn't acknowledge that he heard her, but they both knew that he did. He noted that what she said wasn't meant as a threat, well, it was, but not from her. She was telling him the fact of what would happen if he left his room. He guessed that this was some sort of drug deal that he couldn't get in the way of. Well, he wouldn't get in their way. But as he heard her walk away he remembered something.

"Hey, where are my eye-drops?" He asked, loud enough for her to hear even if she was already down the hall.

"On the window sill in the kitchen." She rasped.

"Well my tutor says I need to start taking them, so give 'em to me."

She didn't respond, but he heard her feet shuffling away. Heavier footsteps came back the way she went just a moment later. Max groaned. Why did _he_ have to come give them to him? He'd rather it was her, at least she wouldn't drag him into a frustrating exchange.

"So, your wanting your eye-drops now, eh, boy?" He asked, his voice a sneer and his tone mocking.

"Well unless you want to pay for my eyes to be un-infected then yeah, I'd say give 'em to me." He kept his tone expressionless, the less emotion he gave the man to feed off of the better.

"But when we tried to give them to you the last time you went sobbing hysterically to your room and had to clutch your teddy-bear to cry yourself to sleep." His voice was dripping with glee, as if he were finally able to unwrap a long-awaited present.

Max felt his ears turn red. He remembered that incident all too well. It was a reminder of how helpless he was back then, how feeble and utterly dependant he was. Now though, he could find his way around just fine, and could even read what he needed to. He didn't need to feel that way anymore.

He heard the man walk closer to him, and his stench made his nose cringe. He raised his arm in defence. The man scoffed and shoved something into Max's hand.

"I don't have to waste on you right now, boy. Br grateful you're getting them at all." Then he left, stomping more furiously than when he came.

So, he'd need to put the drops in himself, huh? How hard could it be? He knew where his eyes were, and how many. The little bottle had the braille for "3 drops" punched into one side. Below that was "once a day" and then "in each eye".

Simple enough.

Max felt the bottle and a little cap pulled off. He tilted his head back, closed his eye and tapped the tip of the dropper against his lid, just to make sure he was aiming right.

Like before, they stung, but he resisted the urge to rub them. He doubted it was a good idea.

A bit later, after finishing Damien's sheet, he heard the front door open and close, followed by voices he didn't recognise. Thoughts began to niggle at the back of his head. Who were these people, and why didn't that man want him about the house while they were here? When they'd be doing whatever they could afford with guests they never cared if he was seen. Same if they were just buying.

His curiosity began to make him restless. He twiddled his fingers and picked between his toes, but nothing could distract from his urge to find out.

Fuck it, the worst that could happen was a belting.

Max tip-toed to his door and, keeping his back to the wall, edged his way closer to the kitchen. The strange voices turned out to be just one voice, a man's voice. He sounded foreign, but Max couldn't place where he was from. Russia maybe? He couldn't be certain, but it would've been too stereotypical for Russian mobsters to be harassing those two.

Going as far as he dared, he could just make out a few words.

"You see, that puts us in an annoying situation. We need that money. That's how this works; we give you product and in exchange you give us legal tender. Keeps the economy going."

"We know, Emile, we do, it's just that we've been very short on cash recently. You understand, right? We've been loyal for years."

The man sounded scared. That made Max smile. The thought of that man squirming in fear and wetting himself gave him more entertainment than any of Damien's braille sheets.

"It's been nearly 2 months, Daniel, 2 months. We gave you 3 weeks to pay, then a 2-week grace period because you've been loyal, but you wore our patience thin. We thought that after we made an example of your son you'd be eager to pay. But here we are, nearly a month later and we haven't heard a peep from you. Imagine our surprise."

"What!" Max shouted, stealth and secrecy be damned.

 _That_ was the reason he was blinded!? _That_ was why his life had been changed forever!? Because those 2 couldn't make good on a fucking drug payment?

"I told you to stay in your room, boy!" He heard the man say. Max couldn't give less of a shit of what he had to say. He stomped in the direction of the voices, his nostrils flaring, his fists clenched, and his eyes watering.

"I don't give a fuck!" Max declared. " _You're_ why I'm fucking blind, because you couldn't pay up? You fucking rat-ass BASTARD!" Max's chest was heaving, his breath laboured. He just couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't understand it.

No.

He understood it perfectly. This was how it always had been; them first, Max last. Only now they fucked up his life permanently.

"Don't you speak to me like that you little bastard." The man growled. "Go back to your room. Now."

"No." The maybe-Russian spoke up. "Let the boy stay, let him hear, let him know. Maybe then you'll be reminded of what happens to people who fucked us. You fuck us again, it's one of you who'll be savaged next time."

There was an ear-melting scrape of the chair legs on the tiles. But max didn't care. He barely even heard it. He was too consumed by emotions to care about anything other than what was being said.

"I hope I've made myself clear here tonight. I don't want to have to make another visit."

Only Max's heavy breaths made a sound in the room. Even the woman's raspy breathing was silenced by this.

"You, boy?" The maybe-Russian man addressed Max.

"What?" He spat.

"I offer my condolences to you that you had to be made an example of. I hope you understand that it's just good business."

Good business? He was blinded over "Good Business"? The thought nearly made Max want to wretch up his stomach. Something so stupid was the reason for his pain, his suffering and his helplessness. Bull- **fucking** -shit.

"Good night to you all." The maybe-Russian man walked away, in the direction of the front door, stopped and said one last thing.

"You have 20 days until I'll be forced to visit again. That's the day after St. Valentines. Make sure you remember it."

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 **Please don't hesitate to leave a review, or to follow or favourite if you haven't already. Thanks.**


	8. Angry

**Chapter 8**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: Don't say that about the Mafia yet, y'all don't know everything yet. Also, yes, you were correct about the whooping.**

 **To TheAngelicPyro: Yes, that is really fucked up, that was the overall goal. I'm also glad to see that you also dislike Max's 'creators', they are rather shit.**

 **To Guest(1): At some point yeah, probably. Can't say who tho.**

 **To Hegemone: Same. Also, how do you pronounce your name, I have a couple of different versions in my head. My favourite is "hedge-ee-mone-ay".**

 **To Guest(2): Thanks, I also think this is awesome, and that's only with a little bit of bias. I hope this update was quick enough.**

 **To Cam: I'm also happy with the twist, it's been fairly well received on here and on AO3. I pondered the idea of having it be the Wood-Scouts briefly but thought that this would be way too severe for something like a hostile rivalry. Stealing a teddy-bear is one thing, assault and optical murder is a completely different school of fish. Also, I don't yet know about Max regaining sight at any point. Leave it with me.**

 **To Wellimherenow: I'm glad you think this is well written. I'm also glad that I'm being fairly realistic with this. If you don't mind, could you tell me what I'm doing wrong in regards to portraying a blind character? I don't know any blind people to ask myself and I'd be very grateful.**

 **To Sage: Thanks a lot! I hope this update was timely enough for you ;)**

* * *

When Max woke up the first thing he felt was the pain. It was a deep, sharp pain that stung and ached to the point that merely waking nearly drove him to tears again. It was across his back, his ass, his legs, arms and even his hands and feet.

The woman's warning didn't go unfulfilled. Her husband did take the belt to him, long and hard. It started almost immediately after the maybe-Russian man, Emile, left. He felt his arm get pulled and could tell what was going to happen, as angry as he was, but he didn't make it easy. He kicked and punched and shouted curses. He even bit the man when he tried to pull his hoodie off. That earned him a solid smack to the jaw. He could feel one of his teeth wobble after that, but he was pretty sure it was a baby-tooth, so it didn't bother him that much.

He didn't care that he was stripped, he was too pissed to care, even when the leather bit into him, he just kept yelling insults and curses at the man.

"Fucking cunt" and "Stupid bastard" were his choruses.

Even when the belt started to bleed him, he didn't let up. Neither of them did. Max used the pain, it fuelled him, made him angrier and angrier until he was certain his head would burst from how much he wanted to kill the man. It was good, it was what he needed. He needed to feel angry. He didn't know what else he _could_ feel right now.

When it finally stopped Max was even more furious than before. The pain and wetness of his own blood made him growl and curse long after there was no-one there to hear him. He didn't move. His body wouldn't let him even if he wanted to. He let the blood clump into scabs, and his piss soak the mattress. He didn't care.

He didn't plan on moving, not for hours, not for days, maybe even years. He'd waste away on that bed long before his mood sweetened. It was only when an idea came to him did he find the will to stand.

Every part of him begged for him to stop, to lie down and be content with rest. He wouldn't listen to them. He needed to do this, if he didn't then he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

The carpet in the hall felt softer on his feet than the stuff in his room. This was new, and he was certain that his room hadn't been the least bit updated since before he was born. That didn't matter though. The only thing that was important was his plan.

The kitchen tiles were cold, but they were good, so very good. He bumped into the table, then the fridge, then the oven. Yes, this was exactly where he wanted to be. The cutlery drawer was next to the oven, if he remembered right, and the light jingle that sounded out when he pulled the handle told him so.

He felt around the cold steel, looking for something sharp, something long. He felt around the sides, and felt a long, thick piece of metal between his fingers. He squeezed it, just to make sure it was good for what he needed to do. His broken skin told him it was. He gripped the handle and pulled it out, causing a clanking ruckus as he did. Good, he wanted them to know he was coming.

He felt the new hallway carpet on his feet, walked past his own bedroom, past the bathroom, and up to the door he knew was theirs. The knob was in the same spot as his own. Their carpet felt as old as his did, but a bit thicker.

He couldn't hear them breathing. Maybe there was a god, and it had seen fit to judge them by killing them itself. If that was true, then Max cursed that god with everything he had. They were his to kill and his alone.

He bumped into the bed and held the blade out in front of him. He felt it meet…air. He crawled onto the bed, onto the flat, cold covers and slashed his metal out in front of him. Nothing. Then he remembered something else. This bed would go many nights unused because those two fell unconscious on the couch.

Cunts.

Here they were, doing more stuff they couldn't afford while Max was already suffering because of their old dept. Fuck that bitch especially, trying to kill that growth in her stomach before it could even comprehend itself. At least she was consistent.

He felt the new carpet again, then he found the old stuff that lay in the living room. He felt around for the old couch and found it. Again, he couldn't hear their breathing but as he ran his hand over the couch his hand felt something sticky. He smelled it. It was bitter and stung his fingers. Was this their purchase of the week?

He moved along, his hand touching something cold and small. Realizing that those 2 weren't in the house, he growled and balled his hands into fists. That was a mistake. The cold thing he found on the couch shattered as he pressured it, sending spikes of sharp pain through his already welted fingers. Out of instinct he dropped the knife and brought his hand to his mouth. He tried to suck the sting away, but the shards of small glass were embedded in his skin, and the bitter, sticky substance made his taste buds shrivel in terror.

He screamed. Not out of any great amount of pain, but out of frustration. He'd finally found it in himself to off those 2 fuckers, but it was just his luck that they were out doing god knows what. He hoped they had gone to beg Emile to do something about their dept and got leaded instead.

If not though, he'd better take care of his hand and wait for them, pounce on them and stab them when they didn't expect it. That would be fair, wouldn't it? A life for each eye they took from him.

But it wouldn't be a life for an eye, would it? The bitch was pregnant, so it'd be 3 for his 2 eyes.

No.

That thing probably didn't even have a brain yet, did it? Why should he feel bad for something that couldn't even perceive itself? He would be doing it a favour, ridding it of those 2 sorry excuses for humans that styled themselves with the title 'parents'.

He was saving it years of torment.

This only made him wish that there was someone before him, who would've done him the kindness he was about to do that growth.

The glass punctured his skin, drawing only a few drops of blood. Well, he could consider them additions to what he was already sporting on the backside of his body.

After pulling out the small sharps he went to his knees, feeling around for the steel, but as he did, he felt his fingers drag along the carpet, as if they were falling asleep while the rest of his body stayed awake.

His knees gave out as well, forcing him to lie on his side. He tried to push himself up, but his joints trembled under any pressure. Then it clicked. It must be the sticky stuff he touched on the couch. He'd licked it from his fingers.

He tried to get up again, but it was just as in vain as before.

His eyelids began to droop as well, his mind's eye blurring and the living room beginning to ring like an angelus bell. His body didn't feel like it worked anymore. He could still feel it well and good, but if he tried to move anything, that part of him would then fall apart like jelly.

The carpet was very rough, Max noticed, but not unpleasant. It was like a dog with coarse fur was rubbing up against him. He would rather it stopped but was willing to put up with it because dog. He really liked dogs, though he never owned one.

" _It'd be too much fuckin' hassle."_

That's what he was told when he asked. He was 6 then and was very jealous of his classmate's big, fluffy German-Shepard. When he promised that he'd look after the dog's every need, pick up his shit, take him for walks, bathe and brush him he was scowled at by the woman.

" _You can't do anything by yourself, what makes you think that you'd be able to look after another animal. Besides, you're enough hassle for this house all by yourself."_

He'd gone to bed angry that night, angry with his "Mom" for not letting him get a dog, and angry with his classmate for getting to have a dog when he didn't. Even when he came home from school the next day to find his old teddy-bear waiting on his bed, stitched-up, re-stuffed and repaired, he was still angry. When he went to bed he had something to hold on to, and that made things a little better.

He wanted that bear again, he wanted to hold it and bury his face in it. He wanted to stop being angry. But he couldn't do that. He was stuck on the floor, trapped in his own body, left to fester and rot in his own self-sustained pool of emotions.

Gwen then popped into his mind. He remembered the time she rescued the bear from the Wood-Scouts and held it out of his reach after he was so close to getting him back. He followed her around, not saying anything just in case she took him away again. Bitch. Then she threw the bear at him, calling him 'Satan' and telling him to eat shit. The worst part was that she revealed that he had a teddy-bear at the age of 10.

Yeah, he was laughed at, but that wasn't the worst of it. He couldn't look at the bear for nearly a week afterwards, so he just left it on the ground where it landed. Through rain, sun and violent camp activities Mr. Honey-Nuts lay on the ground taking all the abuse. He slept uneasily for that week, knowing that if he just went outside and picked him up, he could have his best-friend back. But he couldn't. What if Neil or anyone else saw him with it. He'd never be able to live it down.

It was the morning after when he saw that the bear had been moved, taken or swept away. His gut plummeted. That was it. When the Wood-Scouts took him, he knew that he'd never see him again, but then Gwen brought him back. That wasn't going to happen a second time.

When he went to his tent that night he did so with the knowledge that he would never see his bear again. But he did. Right there on his bed was Mr. Honey-Nuts, fur clean, stitches fresh and solid, an eye still missing but he didn't care, and best of all, a big smile was sewn onto his mouth. He quickly shoved the bear into the chest at the end of his bed, not wanting Neil to know he had it back.

He slept well that night, knowing that Mr. Honey-Nuts was just feet away.

The next day, when everyone else was busy Max snuck back to his tent and took out his bear again, inspecting it for any tears or holes. There were none. Everything was fixed, not a seam out of place. He recognised the stitch-work right away. Nearly everyone had something like it on at least one piece of clothing. It was David's, there was no doubt. The man fixed any tear he came across.

David. Now that was an interesting person. Max quickly became obsessed with trying to break his façade of abject happiness. No-one could possibly be _that_ up-beat all the fucking time. He had to have a breaking point, and Max was determined to find it. But he never did. Even at his worst David was earnest when he spoke. Never lying and always doing what he thought was right. Max couldn't stop testing him though, not until he was certain.

Then camp ended, and he was sure his question was answered. David was the most genuine, good person he had _ever_ met. Yeah, he pushed the man away when he wanted a goodbye hug, but he _did_ give a slight smile. He deserved that at least for how he tried with Max. That was more than he could ever say for his "parents".

David, with his dark-brown hair, and…blue eyes?

That didn't sound right at all, but it was the only image that appeared in Max's mind's eye.

He knew David was tall, tall enough for Max to scale and slap him, and very lanky. But what did he _look_ like? He had the 'hair-floof', that was easy to picture, but what colour was it? Brown, right? It had to be. Yes, he was being stupid, David had brown hair.

He was in that diner again, sitting across from David after abandoning Campbell's show. David's mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Then Gwen came back with the pizza, and when Max blinked, she was gone, and David was speaking again.

This time his words were muffled, as if said through a woollen wall. Gwen came back again, Max blinked, and she was gone.

David's words were clearer now, he could almost make them out. His ears strained. He didn't want to miss a single syllable.

When Gwen came back again, he blinked as before, but his eyes didn't open this time. They didn't open for a long time and David's voice became more and more muffled.

No.

He needed to hear those words! He strained his ears, but the voice went farther and farther away until it sounded like a light gust of wind.

The empty void he shared with the voice collapsed and Max was shaken back into reality, a splitting headache greeting him. The first thing he noticed was the vice-like grip on his upper arm. It was so tight that he thought his arm would break before long. The smells let him know who it was that stirred him. Jack Daniels and tobacco. It was _them_.

"W-why the hell are-are you passed fuckin' out on the floor you li-little bastard?"

The man's words were slurred, and his breath reeked so bad it made Max's nose cringe.

Then red-hot rage flooded Max's body again, memories finally returning to him.

"Fucking bastard!" He shouted, swinging his arm around to find the knife and do what he meant to. "Stupid cunt!"

He was dropped, falling on the scabbed lines on his ass. He hissed but powered on, feeling around for the steel. Pressure was pushed down onto his back, forcing him onto his stomach and winding him. The rubbery sole of the shoe dragged and tugged at the swollen welts, nearly forcing a groan out of Max.

"Th-this what you're lookin' for?" The man asked.

"I don't fucking know, I can't see it you asshat."

"This st-steak-knife."

Max let out an animal-like growl.

"Wh-what were you go-gon-gonna do with it?" The man burped.

Max knew, he knew beyond a doubt that the truthful answer would get him in deeper shit than he'd ever been in before. The urge to say it, purely to spite the bastard was strong, so strong and so bursting that he sneered a goblin's smile just at the thought.

"Well?"

He hadn't answered for a solid minute. The man's boot on his back lifted and the springs of the couch were strained. Then there was snoring. Max pushed himself up debating whether to try and take the knife back and slit the man's throat. Maybe he'd stab him in the eyes, a poetic ending to this if ever there was one.

A raspy voice broke the silence, startling Max out of his thoughts.

"Go take a shower. You smell like piss." She spoke quietly, and she seemed to be standing on the other side of the room.

Max sneered at her.

"Go fuck yourself. The both of you just go straight to hell."

If she took issue with that she didn't make it known. Even if she did, Max wasn't paying attention as he traced the path back to his room.

She did at least have a point, he _did_ smell of piss. His room did too. Then he remembered, he'd pissed himself during the belting. Or maybe it was after. He didn't care either way. He was still naked too. He didn't care about that either. You get embarrassed if _people_ see you naked. Those 2 don't fit the profile.

He did end up showering, not to please the woman but so he wouldn't hafta put up with the smell. The hot water stung his back and ass, but there was some sort of relief to that pain. He couldn't really tell why, there just was. Later he pulled the sheets from his bed and put them in the small room with the washing machine.

What time was it? Max asked himself. He didn't know how long he'd been out for. For all he knew it was Friday already, and he was missing his classes with Walter. And then his rage ebbed.

Walter, the 'David' of home. _He_ cared, he dedicated his life to helping people like them. Damien too. His thoughts flashed back to Ered's gay dads. He pined for that, just as he did after his last bad belting. They didn't even hafta be 2 gay dads, they could be 2 gay moms, or maybe just one. He could get that, couldn't he? All he had to do was go to the police, or any sane adult, and show them what that man did to him. That'd get him taken away and them put in prison.

But where would he be then? Would Walter and Damien swoop in? Probably not. Who wanted to adopt a 10-year-old at all, let alone one with fucked eyes and the personality of a rotten cat corpse. David was an exception, not the rule. Not everybody would be so quick to try with him like David was. They'd just send him back. That would be his life until he was 18 and he was legally obligated to fend for himself.

But would that be a better fate?

The way it was now this whole thing was going to end one of 3 ways.

One; he'd kill those 2 and be taken away to be analysed and tested for insanity by the government. Two; they kill _him_ , they go to prison. Probably. Three; Emile and his crowd kill those two, and Max goes into the system anyway. Or maybe they'd continue to 'make an example' of him until he was nothing but a brain in a broken jar.

In any case, he was fucked.

That was what Max thought about until the alarm clock went off. He sat up, debating whether to put pants on or not. He did, eventually, and left the house with his cane in hand. He'd throw himself out of the car door if he was trapped in there with the woman.

He knew the route to the school by memory. Down the street, take a left, go on past McDonalds, take a right and go straight down the road, another left and a 5-minute walk and you were there. When he wasn't sure he listened for the gaggling groups of children and congested traffic.

He was there, he knew by the sounds, and followed a voice he vaguely recognised from his class. She was the Irish one, but sounded absolutely nothing like Damien. She was easy to follow, her voice sticking out and piercing to his ears.

Class was a pain in the ass. Literally. The welts had swollen and hurt no matter what way he angled his cheeks. He didn't speak and wasn't called upon once.

The recess bell was the sweetest sound he heard all day. Finally, it was time to see Walter.

When Max was about to open the door to Walter's office he heard talking on the other side and stayed his hand. He put his ear up against the wood and strained. He heard the Liam Neeson-esque voice that definitely belonged to Damien, along with Walter's more gentle tone.

He pushed the door open, tired of waiting for the two to finish. Damien was the first to greet him.

"Ah, Max. We were wondering when you'd show up."

"Well I made it, didn't I?" He snarked.

"Aye, you did."

"Don't worry Max, he won't be staying long. Right, Damien?" Walter said, using a slightly colder tone to address his husband.

Damien didn't speak for half a heartbeat, but the silence was louder than anything Max had heard all day, besides Maybe the alarm clock.

"Aye, aye I will be. But first, I've something to give you, Max my boy."

"Oh?" Max's curiosity was piqued.

"Here." He felt Damien's body heat as he got closer, and then something cold and hard pushed gently into his free hand. He let the cane fall to the ground and held the thing in both hands. It was small enough, but bigger than both hands. Flat, smooth, rectangular with a pair of buttons on one side.

"It's a…phone?" He guessed, not wanting to presume.

"Tis." Damien answered, a chuckle lightly held behind his words. "Very, very handy. We've installed all the latest software and operating systems to make it optimal for your use. In fact, Walt here has one just like it."

"Mine's a bit older actually, but I know how to use it so-"

"So you're too stubborn to change." Damien offered, chuckling. "Anyway, there's a TalkBack feature on the phone, one of the best out there. Just ask Siri a question and she'll answer it. It's better than the default if nothing else."

Max didn't know what to say. Here he was, being given what was probably a brand-new iPhone by these people he knew for barely a month. Hell, he only met Damien yesterday. What did he say in a situation like this? Of course he _wanted_ the phone, and _yeah_ it would be useful, but it seemed like too much.

"I…"

"Give it a try." Walter urged.

"Um…hey Siri?"

There was a quick double-beep followed by a feminine voice.

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Wow." Max said, barely a whisper under his breath.

"You'll want to personalise the settings, Max." Damien said, placing a hand on Max's shoulder.

He tensed, moved away and dropped the phone. For just an instant he thought he was in a dream, and that hand woke him like a bucket of ice-cold water and he was in that man's clutch again. When he felt no change and heard only the 2 men's breathing he knew that he was wrong.

His teeth clenched. How had he been so unnerved so easily, just by a gentle touch to the shoulder. This man was actually being kind to him and was trying to help him and he was repaid with scowls and disrespect.

"Sorry." Max muttered, getting to his knees and feeling around for the phone.

"Don't worry about it." Damien said, putting his hand over Max's and helping him up. The phone was put in his hand again. "I know you can be easily frightened when you're not completely used to feeling your surroundings with everything but your eyes."

"Yeah." Max said, clinging to the excuse. "Thanks, I mean. This wasn't…expensive, was it?"

He heard a guffaw from Walter. "That man over there doesn't even know the meaning of the word. 'Extravagant' is his preferred word."

"Well pardon me, but I didn't hear _you_ complaining when Miguel was rubbing the cricks out of your back when we stopped in Spain on our way home." Damien said, donning a half-defensive tone.

"Not the point." Walter said, huffing, but Max could swear he heard a smile on the man's lips.

"Honestly," Damien directed his voice at Max. "he's turning into my mother."

"Well I hope so, Sarah is a wonderful woman!"

"See, only me Ma would say she's a wonderful woman." Damien laughed, followed shortly by Walter. "Back to your question Max my boy, don't worry about the cost of anything. Our coffers are deep enough."

"Oh, okay." He was still at a loss for words with more than 2 syllables. "Thanks. Again."

"Don't mention it." Damien gave him a lighter touch on the shoulder this time. "Anyway, I'd best be off, leave you two to your lessons." Damien left Max's side, going towards where he heard Walter was.

"I'll see you at dinner?" The Irishman asked in a semi-whisper. There was a pause, but Walter eventually replied.

"Yes."

"Very good!" Then the quick and small sound of a kiss went through the room, and Damien was quickly at the door. "Slán libh."

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 **Please leave a review, it really means a lot to me. Also follow and favourite if you can, it's reassuring to know people are enjoying and wanting to follow this story.**


	9. Damien

**Chapter 9**

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 **To TheAngelicPyro: Capital suggestion, but I think Max is a bit too proud to admit he needs help to escape those 2 right now.**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: You're familiar with the concept of "slow-burn", yes? Well this'll be a little like that :) Enjoy.**

 **To Chickenspoon42: You're right in saying that Max's perspective is skewed, especially since he only has his hearing to off of when interacting with his "parents". I have mentioned the Camp before now at least a couple of times, as well as the campers. And I don't think that Nomad of Nowhere will replace Camp Camp, the show has a big following, and they do make specials for it (suck as on Christmas and Halloween) so Rooster Teeth is very aware of its popularity. As well as that Camp Camp airs in the Summer. I liked the David section too, I'd been wanting to write it for a while and am glad I finally got the chance. Don't worry about not being to review, it's cool if you're not able or a chapter doesn't really have anything that jumps out at you, but I hope this one is review-worthy :D (I celebrate Easter for chocolate).**

 **To Hegemone (ee-YA-mo-ne): He doesn't have a lot of interaction with adults really, and he's never hit on the face so it can be hidden really. Walter can't exactly tell and Damien...well you bouta find out a thing or too about Damien ;).**

 **To Cam: I like deepening the nature of Max and David's relationship, to more than just councilor and camper to more of a Father/son one. His mother and father have their own sides that may be explored depending on the reception to this chapter, but yeah the dad is fairly shit. And to answer your question, I do not know how many chapters will be in this story, I'm terrible at estimating that.**

 **To Guest: There are a lot of features that make phones easy to use for the blind. Hopefully after this chapter you'll see what I meant :)**

 **To TGnat: Both of his parents have their own stories to be told, but yeah, Max's dad is a grade-A shitstorm of a human being and his mother is a bit more sympathetic.**

 **To DraconaKaz: I'm glad to have you reading, and am happy you're enjoying the story :)**

 **To NothingButABoy: I love this story too! And that's only partly because I'm the one writing it :D And thank you, I hope that I've really improved, especially compared to some of my older stuff.**

 **To Cartoonlover1171: I'm glad I've made you cry 4 times, each tear strengthens me and brings me a step closer to world domination!**

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 **This chapter is a little different, it'll be the first time it's not entirely from Max's POV. There is a brief NSFW paragraph at some point but it's nothing graphic.**

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Max held his knew phone tight in his hands. He wasn't in school, or at home. There was no chance in hell that he was taking it out with those 2 around. They'd probably take and sell it on to try and pay off their dept, or more likely just spend on more crap like they always did. Right now he was in a safer place, McDonalds, at 8 in the morning on a Saturday.

He was in a corner booth, back against the wall and feet on the seat. He knew _how_ to log into their Wi-Fi, the problem was _actually_ getting it done.

"Hey Siri?"

There was the double beep and then the phone's monotone voice;

"Yes, Max?"

"Open Wi-Fi settings." As he trailed his finger over the screen he heard things like "Wi-Fi: Switch: On" and "Hot-Spot: Switch: Off". He smirked with joy when he heard: "McDonalds Free Wi-Fi: Unconnected". He did as he was taught by Walter and double-tapped the screen to go into it. The phone said: "McDonalds Wi-Fi: Connected" but was followed by: "Please accept terms and conditions".

His finger traced the screen for over a minute before he finally heard "Terms and Conditions: Check-Box: Unchecked". He double-tapped again and heard "Terms and Conditions: Check-Box: Checked".

"Fuck yes! Siri, Google "Camp Campbell" now!"

A double beep and "Showing results for: "Camp Campbell"."

He traced the screen and heard "YMCA Camp Campbell, safe enriching outdoor camping, ".

" _That's not fucking it!"_ He traced the screen for a bit longer, hearing only about this "YMCA Camp Campbell" and all its shit.

"Siri, Google "Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell, Lake Lilac, Sleepy Peak, Prime Minister of Thailand".

Beep-beep. "Showing results for: "Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell, Lake Lilac, Sleepy Peak, Prime Minister of Thailand"."

This time the top result he heard was "Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell, ."

He smiled, double-tapped the screen and began tracing it again, hearing: "Give your child a once-in-a-lifetime adventure!", "guaranteed satisfaction or your money back", and other useless shit, until he finally heard: "Contact". He double-tapped as fast as he could, clicked on the first number he heard.

"Do you want to call this number, Max?" Siri asked.

"Yes!" He yelled, getting impatient with the machine. The sound of dialling, following by that monotonous double-beeping sounded. Max held the phone to his ear and waited with baited breath.

"Hellooooo!"

"David!" Max's gut fluttered, here he was, it was this easy, he was talking to David, the one person who he _knew_ he could trust beyond a doubt, who he knew would help him as soon as he popped a question. He had him, his way out, he had-

"Thank you for calling Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell! We're sorry but due to a change in management and understaffing we are not accepting new campers until the 1st of May. Please call us back then and we'll give your child the adventure of a lifetime! Campe Diem!"

-a voice message. He had a voice message. Anger flared in Max again. This was so stupid! What would he have said if David had answered? "Hey David, I know I was a little shit who was out to make your life a living hell for three months but do you wanna talk about our feelings and shit?" Thinking about it again Max realized that David would probably cream his pants at the prospect of an emotional conversation.

He clutched the phone and slammed it on the table. With his arms crossed he leaned back, pulled his legs to his chest and sulked. After a while he wished he had money for food. Even a dollar would get him a hamburger. He growled.

The week passed by without much incident. Max stayed in his room while the deadline for the dept those 2 had to pay drew ever closer. He hadn't tried to kill them since the last time. He hadn't completely ruled out the option, but after having a little bit of time to cool off made his realize that maybe parricide was a bit too radical. They deserved it of course, but he wouldn't be able to live much of a life in juvie. Instead he cursed them whenever they spoke to him, which was mostly the woman, and once he pissed on their pillows. It was worth the belting. The man had been drunk when he started, making his hits lighter, sloppier and ill-aimed. They still hurt, but he wasn't left bleeding. Hell, he didn't even shed a tear. The man just threw the belt down and began ranting about "the damn sail-on-sool" or whatever he called it.

Walter said he would have Damien on Thursday and Friday this week again. He didn't mind at all. Damien had proven that he was as good as Walter, with a cruder sense of humour to boot.

"Max, would you like to come to the opera with myself and Walter?" Damien asked as the second Friday lesson ended.

"The opera?"

"Yes, the thing where great-big fat people belt their lungs out and somehow create music. That thing."

Max couldn't help but laugh. Still, "the opera", it was such a fancy-dancy thing that only the poshest of snobs and rich people went to. He never saw himself ever going to one.

Then again, he never saw himself liking really old Mozart-type music either, yet he had over a dozen tracks on his phone of the old stuff. He had to admit to himself, it would be nice to do something over the weekend than hole himself up in his room with only those 2 for company. Hell, he might even enjoy himself with the pair, they were funny and not assholes after all.

"Sure, can't be worse than spending the weekend at home." He shrugged. He didn't want to seem _too_ interested.

"Great stuff. Eh, while I have ya, you wouldn't happen to own a suit, would you?" Damien asked.

Max scoffed as a laugh bubbled in his chest. "Hell no, I've never worn a suit in my life, thank fuck."

"Well, that'll be a bit of an issue. The opera is a black-tie event, and I'm afraid jeans, runners and a hoodie aren't going to get you in."

"The fuck are "runners"?" Max asked, ignoring the underhanded slight at his clothes.

"Sneakers, I should say. It's what we call 'em back home." He patted Max on the shoulder. "It's no big matter though. If you want we can bring you to a tailor tomorrow to get you fitted for one. If it doesn't clash with any plans of course?"

A tailor-made suit? Weren't those things really expensive? Those two barely had enough money to keep the fucking lights on, let alone pay for a suit just so he could go hear a few fat fuckers sing. "I don't think my-" He paused. Calling those 2 "parents" just felt wrong to him. He didn't think of them that way, not even one bit. "I mean, _I_ don't have money for that, so yeah." He heard Damien chuckle. Max flushed. He knew Damien was well off, but that didn't mean he could just laugh at his near-poverty! "Shut up!" He yelled, barely able to keep them below a full-on shout. His fists were balled, and his teeth were grit, no-one laughed at him for something that was _their_ fault. No-one.

Damien stopped laughing and put his hand on max's shoulder again. "My boy, I wasn't laughing at your expense, if that's what you thought,"

" _Oh."_ Max felt his cheeks redden, all of a sudden feeling a bit embarrassed about his yelling. Damien _had_ proven that he wasn't the sort to just laugh at him like that.

"I just found it funny that you thought we'd let a 10-year-old pay for himself. Granted it's not exactly side-splitting. Don't worry about any money, my boy, this'll be our treat."

"Why?" This was probably the first question Max should've asked. Sure, he got to know them over the last month, but why would Walter and Damien _want_ to spend money on him. He was just a kid they taught.

"Because my dear husband is a very kindly person, and according to him you're a good kid. As well as that he's always grown fond of his students, even the difficult ones."

"Well," Max struggled to find the right response. He wasn't expecting them to _actually_ like him as a person. "that's fine I guess." He shrugged.

"Great. We'll pick you up at, let's say, 11 tomorrow morning? How's that sound?"

11? In the morning? When he didn't hafta get up for anything he always slept into the afternoon. He'd need to though. Hell, he'd need to get up even earlier to shower and shit. He internally groaned at the idea. Well there was nothing to be done about it.

 **Damien**

As Damien pulled into his garage, he reflected on the day's events. He'd filled in for Walt for his lessons with the boy, and he'd invited him on their little trip to the opera. All Walt's idea of course. His husband thought he was so slick and clever, but Damien saw through his little ploy. He'd been trying to turn Damien around to the idea of adopting for months now and thought that by showing him the joys of having a child around he'd balk.

Admittedly Max Anand was an entertaining kid to have around. He was smart, somewhat funny and quick-witted, and in Walt's words; "In desperate need of a loving parent".

That much Damien knew to be true. Oh yes, he knew all about Daniel and Sashi Anand. Not personally of course, he had people for that, people like Emile Petrov. His thoughts then went to the now one-eyed man. It was on the 28th of January when he could claim that moniker. Damien had done the job himself after he found out what the man had done.

He only had a handful of rules for those who worked under him. Stay away from schools and orphanages, don't sell to children, don't hurt pregnant women, and especially don't hurt children. Emile had broken that last rule in a most unforgivable manner. Blinding the child of a couple who couldn't afford to pay us back, using our own botched product nonetheless.

Damien had said that to punish outstanding debts his workers may use, as some called it, "physical-motivation". Torture. Call a spade a fucking spade was what Damien thought, to hell with sugared words and euphemisms.

"You can do anything that doesn't cripple and can be hidden. In special cases you can take the rancid stuff to an eye. No farther."

That was what he said again and again, to make sure the message got across. Apparently, Emile needed to be told more than that. He's bound to know now, after getting all of Damien's rules inked onto his body for the rest of time.

When he'd first heard of Max Anand he didn't think anything of him. He was a newly blind child that Walt had been assigned to teach. Nothing new or interesting. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it was too little mentioned and too unimportant to be of note. Then he met the boy, and only genuine curiosity and the innate concern that came with being a semi-medical-professional urged him to take a look at the boy's eyes when he asked. He didn't expect to see anything noteworthy, but when that familiar, glassy-green iris looked at him he knew what had happened. He'd seen those effects before, on people he'd personally poured the rancid stash into, or those who were stupid and overdosed on the good stuff.

" _This is the mark of my work,"_ He'd thought, _"the mark of saol-an-tsúil."_

He'd been livid. Emile had broken his rules and was going to pay for it. Later on, when he'd called Emile the man told him that he had just come back from giving a couple a hard deadline for their debt. He gave the name "Anand". That had sealed his fate in Damien's eyes. He'd hear him out of course, but that wouldn't help him much.

"They hadn't paid for too long," Emile had laughed. "so we gave them a lesson they won't soon forget. Ha! They'll respect our brand in future, now, don't you agree?"

Disgusting. The rat had thought that by blinding a child, a defenceless, tiny child, he would get praise and promotion. Damien let him think that. For 5 minutes at least. He'd been singing a different song when his left eye had been pulled from the socket and the optic nerve severed. He didn't even have words to form when the scalpel carved at his…well, let's say that he now had something in common with Adolf Hitler and Lance Armstrong. The forcing of the tattoo onto his back must've seemed almost soothing in comparison. The men who helped him had each lost a finger. They were at fault too of course, but the buck stops at the superior.

He had to atone too. He'd enabled this, so it was only right. He started by telling Walter. That was their deal, that Damien keep no secrets of his crime-related business and Walter stays. They'd made it only a month before the wedding, when Walt had discovered the whole thing. They'd nearly called everything off, but enough pleading had convinced Walter to stay with him. He couldn't have tolerated losing the man he loved, so he was happy to make any concessions that were asked of him. And so they fell into that routine. They rarely spoke of it, but when they did it was always a tense affair. Walter even called it "his other life".

The fight they had after he told Walter the truth made the fight before the wedding look like a child's slap fight. Walter had been furious, almost beyond reason. He was glad Walter was blind in that moment, that way he couldn't see Damien's face, the tears or the distraught look. He was scared that Walter was going to leave, but he didn't. For that Damien was grateful but now he had to try and make things right.

He started by getting the boy a phone, the best one money could buy, and passed it off as a normal iPhone. The word "iPhone" was an insult to the one he'd gotten Max, but it was best that it not be known how rich they actually were.

The opera was another way of atoning. He was sure Max would've preferred something else, but hell if he knew what his interests were. Anything typical like video-games and comics were redundant, and anything like a personalised computer would've been far too extravagant to pass off as a mere gift. Besides, he knew the sort of people Max's parents were. He'd seen their type before. They'd sell anything they got their hands on for their debt.

That was another part of his atonement. He was going to forget the Anands' debt and not sell to them anymore. Then he'd let everyone else know not to sell to them too. Maybe if they couldn't get their hands on anything then they could finally begin parenting Max. He owed the boy that, and Walter wouldn't settle for anything less.

Damien walked into the living room and saw his husband lying on the couch shirtless and listening to Beethoven on the record player. Poor thing was as sick as a dog. He'd felt it coming for days until Wednesday, when he said that he wouldn't be able to go to Max's lessons. Damien stood in for him. It was expected after all. He would've rather stayed home and make sure his love was okay, but his own debt to Max Anand was more important to Walt than his own health right now.

Walter was curled into the back of the couch, his back glistening with sweat. He put his hand on his husband's hip and leaned in close.

"Walt?" His breath caressed the shell of his ear, and Walt stirred.

"Dame?" He asked, his voice wracked with tiredness and a dry throat.

"Yeah." He snaked an arm under Walt's legs, the other under his back and took him into his arms. Their bed would be a better place for him to rest. "Feeling any better?"

Walter wrapped his arms around Damien's neck and buried his face in his chest.

"Yeah, I'm just tired now. The headache's-" He coughed. "-gone. You told Max about the opera, right?"

"Of course, and he accepted. Shockingly he doesn't own a suit, so we'll be going to the Fix tomorrow."

"Good, I thought that might be the case."

Damien lay Walter down on the mattress and crawled down next to him, placing a hand on his flat stomach.

"Enough of that for now." Damien kissed the shell of Walter's ear, and he felt the other man shudder. "Just how well are you feeling?"

Walter had blue-balled him ever since he learned the truth about what happened to Max, but he never held much of a grudge, at least not with something like sex. Yes, he'd still be held to his agreements, and yes Walter won't ever forget about this, but as man and husband they yearned for each other. He missed the feel of Walt under him, even though it had only been a week. He was used to having his husband at least 4 or 5 nights of the week, it was the carnal cornerstone of their marriage, and not having him made Damien restless.

Walt paused for a moment before speaking. "Well enough." It was just a hoarse whisper, but Damien took it as consent and leaned down, meeting his husband's lips with his own. His hand slipped under the waistband of Walt's tracksuit pants and he palmed his stiffening member through his briefs.

Yes, this is what he missed, the heat between them, the softness of Walt's skin, the taste of his essence, the tight warmth between his bottom cheeks, and tonight, he had it all. Physically, mentally, emotionally, this man belonged to him. Damien himself was just as owned, just as enslaved and more than enthralled. This was his life, not the drugs, not the teaching, not the job, not the money, this. This was all that mattered, this man, his voice, his body and his mind, and he was never going to let himself lose it.

The next day he and Walt went to pick up the boy at 11 O'clock. Damien alone went to the door, Walt knowing and not wanting to be involved in the releasing of the Anands' from their debt. It was the wife, Sashi, who answered. She was a very thin woman, with a slightly bulging belly, brittle looking black hair, bagged green eyes and sallow, olive skin. He greeted her and introduced himself. She invited him in, speaking with a very raspy voice. Probably caused by years of smoking and drug-using, if her teeth were any indication.

The husband, Daniel, was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a pile of white envelopes. His hair was greyed, his eyes black, his face gaunt and hollow, and his skin a bit darker than his wife's, but not very. He greeted Damien with a limp handshake.

Sashi said she was about to go get the boy when he stopped her.

"There's actually something I'd like to talk to the pair of you about." They looked at Damien, then at each other, then back at Damien. He thought they had no doubt just had a telepathic conversation that couples were one to do. "And I think it's best that your son not hear."

They couple sat at the kitchen table, meanwhile Damien walked to the counter, spotting a vial of something all too familiar. He picked it up, sat across from Sashi and Daniel, and placed the vial across from both of them.

"This is quite the substance," He said, interlocking his fingers. "difficult to come across, wouldn't you say?" They looked down at the little bottle, panic flashing across the man's eyes. Sashi just looked morose. "and unimaginably difficult to make. I would know." They glanced sideways at each other. Daniel had a drop of sweat dripping down his temple. "It took months of experimenting to get it right, the rats I used feared my stench by the time I was done. They couldn't see me, you see." He said, giving them half a smirk. He stretched his arms across the table, offering each of them a hand. The woman lay her cold, clammy palm against his. The man looked fearful but followed his wife's example. Damien leaned in close and spoke in barely a whisper.

"You can disregard what Emile Petrov said, about the 20 days, you can forget _all_ about it." He squeezed both of their hands in a painful grip. "But you may _never_ buy from me again. Never so long as a child lives under your roof."

He let go of them, stood, and stepped back. "I really enjoyed our chat, but you best call your son now."

Not 5 minutes later he, Max and Walter were making the drive to the nearest city, which was an hour's drive on the highway. His husband and the boy had talked while Damien kept his eyes on the road, happy to just listen. The weight that had been bearing down on his gut had lightened by just a little. He hoped that he had just redeemed himself by even a miniscule amount.

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 **I really hoped all of you enjoyed this chapter, I really do. I personally loved writing from Damien's perspective and I hope this little reveal took some of you by surprise and that it didn't seem to come completely out of nowhere. Please let me know your opinions because if you did I might write from other characters' POVs in the future.**


	10. Opera

**Chapter 10**

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 **To TheAngelicPyro: I'm glad you liked the different POV and the plot_twist, I'm always one for the element of surprise.**

 **To Guest: Well, I debated doing what you guessed would happen, but decided against it. Hope you still like this chapter tho. FYI I'm also looking forward to the 1st of May. You probably shouldn't XD (jk). I'm glad you liked the plot twist though, I knew Damien was gonna be something like that from the start.**

 **To TheUnitedWritersVXN (TGNAT): I love the insult "cockbites", it really roles off of the tongue.**

 **To Hegemone (ee-YA-mo-ne): Everything is tainted, life is sin and we're all bound for the lake of fire. I can see how you would've liked to have it wholly from Max's perspective, but I thought this would've been the best way to convey this part of the story without Damien just explaining it all. Glad you liked the plot-twist tho.**

 **To NothingButABoy: I too think it's getting better and better, and that's only with a little bit of bias. I really look forward to writing the whole camp part of the story. I can't say for certain if y'all are gonna like reading it tho.**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: As an expert on myself I can say that your concerns aren't founded on nothing, but I don't like making things too easy for anyone :)**

 **To Guest: They kinda do but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

 **To Hi there: Your wish is my command**

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The car seats were soft, and kinda bouncy. Hell, it felt more comfortable than his own bed. If he decided to lie down he'd probably fall back to sleep. The back seats also had speakers, through which he could hear the quiet chanting of 'Oh Fortuna'. Max had been getting dressed when Damien knocked on the door. He'd been expecting to be called immediately, but he decided to have a chat with those 2.

Max tried to hear what they were saying but Damien had been whispering by the time he was close enough. It must've been something good because the woman said; "Goodbye" to him and didn't sound like a drowned, half-dead cat, followed by the bastard himself saying; "Yeah" which was more positive interaction Max had with the man than in the last 6 months.

Maybe Damien had told them that he was being taken to a concentration-camp to labour under the hard gaze of Dolph himself. That would make them happy.

Instead Walter had told him that they were going into the city to this fancy-ass tailor to get him fitted for a monkey-suit. Or something to that effect at least. Both men had begun to ask him questions; "What food did he like?", "What were his hobbies?", "How did he find school?", "Was adjusting to the world of sightlessness going well?". You know, the usual small talk.

Max answered simply. They probably didn't want to listen to his life story. Walter never let a silence settle, always asking questions to pass the time.

It wasn't annoying.

"We're here." Damien said, getting out first and opening Max's door. He followed the voice and felt his feet hit pavement. Max unfolded his cane and tapped the ground with it, checking for anything he might trip over. There was nothing.

He could tell they were in a busy place. There were dozens of voices all mixed together, forming a single unintelligible blur of noise.

"Would you mind taking my hand, Max, it's a very busy street."

"I'll be fine." Max said, not thinking he needed to have his hand held like a little kid. He began to think a little differently after a couple of minutes of walking. People were _everywhere_. More than a couple of times his cane smacked into somebody's ankles, throwing off his sense of direction. At least the other person always apologised. He knew it was because he was blind, or a child. Probably both.

He could also hear Damien behind him, talking with Walter who was apparently having no difficulties at all. He was off in his own world for minute, focusing on the path in front of him and ignoring everything else around him.

"Max!" He heard Damien's voice say, but before he could reply he felt his mid-section grabbed from behind and he was raised in the air. He kicked and thrashed, thinking he was being taken by some random by-stander. Maybe this was the plan those 2 had agreed to with Damien, have him snatched while out in the busy city.

He heard a loud "Ow!" before he realized it was Damien's hands that lifted him. He stopped thrashing and fisted his hoodie instead. It was only then that he noticed that he was heaving and breathless. He felt his feet touch solid ground again. He clutched the handle of his cane so tight it was hurting his hand.

"You nearly walked into incoming traffic, Max! Didn't you hear me call you?"

Damien sounded angry, by instinct Max backed away but was blocked off by a solid, cold wall. Where was he? Was there a way out? A weapon? He had his cane, but he knew Damien's hands were big and strong and that he'd crush the plastic with no issue.

"I, I, I," Max stuttered, words jumbling themselves in his mouth. "Fuck off!" It was all so confusing! The noise, the crowd, the man-handling. He thrust his fist out and felt it 'pat' against something a lot sturdier than himself. He then felt something warm softly drape itself over his fist.

"Max." It was Damien again, this time sounding a lot calmer than before. "Are you okay?"

Max thought. Was he okay? He was just grabbed by Damien because…he almost walked into traffic. Okay, that was definitely a plus, not being roadkill. Now he was up against a wall, literally, with having just punched Damien and telling him to fuck off. Less good but the man seemed to be taking it well.

"I, yeah, I'm fine." He lowered his fist, but Damien kept his hand on top of his. He guessed that he wasn't going to be able to get away with "I'll be fine" now. He resigned himself to holding hands with the man.

Max would never admit to it so long as he lived, but he felt a lot more confidant in the crowd and the noise with the knowledge that Damien was right there beside him. The man's hand was rough-skinned, with callouses he and there, but it was warm, and he didn't grip very hard too. That was probably by choice. Damien could probably crush his hand to mush if he felt like it.

Soon after they were all inside. Max assumed that this was the tailor. When Damien let go of his hand and walked away, saying "I'll be back in a minute or two" he was left alone with Walter, who shuffled up next to him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice curious.

Max clenched his hands together, his face heating and his palms getting clammy. "Fine." He wasn't lying, he was fine. On a physical level at least, all thanks to Damien.

"I heard what happened. It must've been scary."

Scary? The only scary part was when he was suddenly lifted from the ground. That and angry Damien. Beyond that, he never even knew he was in danger of being run over. He was too focused on making sure he didn't trip or bump into anything.

"No, not really. Damien was pissed though." He snickered a little. He didn't know why, it wasn't funny then and it wasn't funny now. His voice alone nearly made him piss himself. With the man he lived with he had to learn to expect a belting before he got scared. Even then it was the pain that got him, not the man. But Damien was an entirely different creature, _he_ was what struck fear, not any threat.

"I should think so." Walter said matter-of-factly. "He's a very protective man, Damien is. When we first started seeing each other he wouldn't let go of my hand until I was home. I appreciated the sentiment, but I was born in the dark, I know my way around." He laughed, a small, fond laugh that Max could tell was only used for the other man. "I also heard what you said." He didn't laugh then.

"Yeah." Max lowered his head, a bit ashamed of what he said. "Sorry." It was barely a mutter, but Walter still heard it.

"It's fine, your heart must've been racing, hm? Besides, Dame's Irish, he's far from a stranger to cursing, even from children." He laughed again. Not a 'ha-ha' laugh, this one was a 'you-would-not-believe-what-I-have-had-to-put-up-with' laugh. "When I first brought him home he called our cat an 'effing rodent' when she scratched him, and he didn't say 'effing'." Max laughed himself, imagining the scene. "And salt on the wound, he said it in front of my father, who was a reverend." Max laughed harder this time, picturing Damien sweat under the gaze of a clergyman.

"So I'm guessing you were a goody-2-shoes growing up, huh?" Max thought of David then, and the story he told about being a rebel as a child. He still didn't believe it.

Walter chuckled. "I guess I was."

Damien came back and took them both into a different room. Max could smell a headache inducing amount of incense, cologne and candles. He disliked the room immediately, along with the nasal voice of the woman who spoke.

"Ah, Walter sir, so good to see you again!" Max heard Walter exclaim, "Oh!" in surprise and the sound of 2 kisses, probably to his cheeks.

"It's, it's good to see you too, Gwyneth." Walter sounded about as genuine as a 4-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie-jar, but this pungent-smelling "Gwyneth" didn't seem to notice.

"This is the one to be measured, yes?" She asked, taking a few steps closer to Max.

"He is." Damien answered simply. "Quick as you can, Gwyneth, we have places to be."

" _We do?"_ Max wasn't told about any other plans today. The opera wasn't until tomorrow. Did they plan more things to surprise him? If so, then Damien just ruined the element of surprise.

"Oh yes, oh yes, as quick as possible as per usual." Max felt a meaty hand clamp down on his shoulder. He stumbled in the direction he was pulled, barely able to stay on his feet. "Whoa!"

"Easy, Gwyn." Damien's hand took the place of Gwyneth's sausages. The cane-strap around his wrist was undone. He'd forgotten about to be honest. "Could you raise your arms, my boy, the measuring will go faster without the red hoodie."

Red? Max didn't remember owning a red hoodie. He had five, four blue and one grey, but he hardly wore the grey one, at least, he used to. He couldn't tell what colour he wore anymore and wasn't bothered enough to ask someone about it. But where did this one come from? Logically, it must've been one of those 2, probably the woman. She wasn't as much of a bitch as she used to be. Maybe she was finally realizing what a cunt she'd been and was trying to make herself feel less guilty by buying him things. Well, she'd hafta try harder than that, the pair of them would hafta buy him a pair of working eyes to make up for blinding him, and he doubted they would, even if something like that was possible.

"Sure." He said, lifting his arms above his head. The hoodie came off easily, but more importantly, Max realized how fucking cold it was without it. His thin T-shirt wasn't cutting it at all.

"And if you could just step onto the stool in front of you." Damien said, guiding him forward a bit more. He lifted a foot and felt it kick against something. He guessed it must be the stool. He tried to get onto it in one big step, and he half succeeded, one foot got on top, but the second he tried to step up again the stool tilted and fell out from under him. He threw his arms out to try and grab onto something, and felt his fingers slip away from something fleshy that tried to catch him.

"Shit!" Max shouted, expecting the ground to meet him any second now and give him a new headache. But that didn't happen. For the second time that day he found himself caught by Damien's hands.

"Careful." The man said, holding Max mid-air for a minute before placing him on the stool. Max's face was hot the entire time. He muttered a mouse-like "Thanks" under his breath but other than that didn't acknowledge the incident.

"Right!" Gwyneth declared, breaking the silence. For about 10 minutes the woman was wrapping a strip of fabric around Max, around his waist, his chest, his neck, his arms and legs, and then the length of everything as well. He immediately asked for his hoodie when he stepped down and was happy to be warm again.

"Your cane." Damien said, putting the handle of the stick into Max's hand. He redid the strap himself and listened to the rest of them talk. Gwyneth said something about a "Perfect fit!" and Damien wanted to go about seeing it first.

"That's a nice lookin' one." Damien commented a moment later.

"Yeah, looks great." Max said with a smirk. He heard Walter snort behind him and Damien let out a stifled chuckle. Gwyneth was not as quick.

"Why thank you, this one was made in Italy by-" She paused. "Very funny." Max's smirk widened, very proud of himself.

"Yes well, might as well try it on, make sure it fits and all that." The woman said.

Max's blood went cold. Would he hafta strip down in front of these people? Well, Walter was fine, and Damien too he supposed, but this woman was not going to see him in his underwear. He still had _some_ dignity after all. His mood must've showed because Damien's next words saved him.

"Yes, you're right. Would you mind giving us the room, Gwyn?"

"Oh yes, yes yes, I'll leave you to it." Max heard the woman's footsteps creak on the floorboards and a door shut closed.

"Off with the hoodie again, Max." Damien said. Max sighed, undoing the cane's strap and pulling off the hoodie again. At least he was allowed to do it himself this time.

"Are you okay with taking off the tee too? I want to make sure it fits perfectly."

Max fisted the fabric of his T-shirt. It would only be Damien seeing him after all, so after a minute of silence he agreed and pulled it over his head too. He crossed his arms over his chest. It really was cold after all.

"The shirt first, Max."

Max felt something soft draped over his shoulders. His wrist was then grasped by Damien, and his hand was lead through the arm of the shirt. Then the other, and then it was buttoned up. It was a little tight, he wouldn't be able to wave his arms around wildly, that was for sure. At least it was soft.

"Now the overcoat." Damien did the same thing with the coat, but this was only really tight around the middle. "And now the pants, if it's okay?"

Albeit reluctantly, Max nodded, kicked off his sneakers and undid his jeans and let them fall. Good thing his boxers were big, it would've been too embarrassing if he was still in tighty-whities or some shit like that. The pants were snug, but not tight, and didn't itch like he thought they would.

"There's a belt too but we'll leave that for now. As well as the dickie-bow."

A dickie-bow? Max cringed at the thought. They seemed like something only super-nerds would wear, or old college professors (who still counted as super-nerds but with a helping of dork in there as well).

"In any case, how does it fit?" Damien asked.

Max took a few steps and moved his arms back and forth, getting a good feel for how constrictive the suit was. Not as much as he thought, when everything was tucked in the proper place he felt like he could walk normally. Hell, it was warm to boot. "It's fine, I guess."

Damien chuckled. "That's good. You look very dapper, Max, all you need is a half-decent haircut and you'll get through the opera's bouncers."

Max laughed, picturing a large, musclebound man in a suit throwing someone who dared to underdress for the opera to the sidewalk. Then he imagined a sign saying "YOU MUST BE AT LEAST THIS FANCY" with a picture of the queen.

"So we'll buy this one, will we?" Walter asked, clapping his hands together. No doubt he found this whole thing as tedious as Max did. Neither of them would be able to tell if they were actually wearing black-tie standard suits or looked like pimps, complete with a purple pin-stripe suit studded with diamonds. Max saw that somewhere, but he couldn't remember what from. That was gonna be annoying.

"We will." Damien answered snappily. And that was that. They bought the suit and left.

"Lord, I can't stand the smell of that place." Walter said as soon as the car's engine revved.

"I know sure." Damien replied.

"Still, she has good suits. You do like it, right Max?"

Max nodded. Then he realized that Walter wouldn't know that. "Yeah, it's great."

After Max was taken to a barber for a haircut, they all went out to lunch, Damien and Walter's treat of course, and they dropped him home afterwards. Damien walked him to the door, and when it opened he heard the raspy voice of the woman greet them. Max didn't pay attention to her, he just said "See ya tomorrow" to Damien and went straight to his room.

His suit was in a box, and he left the box at the foot of his bed. He lay down and smiled, really looking forward to the next day.

* * *

Max was ready when he was picked up, freshly showered and dressed in his new suit, this time with a dickie-bow around his neck, courtesy of Damien. He never saw a flash, but he knew pictures were taken. When they stepped out of the car Max really felt the cold.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"About quarter to 7." Damien answered.

Already? Max hadn't expected it to be that late already. In the noisy street again, he decided to take Damien's hand when offered. He heard someone say something about tickets, and then they were out of the cold and into a place where the amount of voices was almost headache inducing.

"We're in the second row." Damien said. "But if anyone needs the loo I'd say go now, we don't want to be getting up and around in the middle of the performance."

Max shook his head, but heard Walter say he was going to 'pop off' to 'the loo'. He chuckled to himself. He'd been learning these odd English and Irish terms from the two. When Damien said he was only having 'a bit of craic' he wasn't talking about cocaine, apparently it was Irish for 'a bit of fun'. Also, 'I will yeah' meant 'no'. Walter was one to curse with 'ponce', 'blighter' and used 'bloody' as if it were a spice. Though he often gasped when he remembered Max was present. Damien was quite the potty-mouth though, much to Max's entertainment. He used 'feck' or 'fuck' every second sentence, and unlike when the man he lived with cursed, Damien made him laugh. His accent was certainly a help with that.

A bit later, when they were all seated, the crowd quieted. There was a quiet tapping sound, and the singing began. It was a woman, high and throaty. She started quiet, singing out in a language he couldn't understand. But he didn't need to understand it. He just sat back in his seat and listened. His shoulders relaxed, a tense knot he didn't know he had loosening. His eye-lids fluttered closed. It didn't make things any darker, but it made listening easier.

The sunglasses on his nose were beginning to itch a bit so he took them off and placed them on his lap. He rubbed the indentation they left on the bridge between his eyes. The woman's pitch rose very high, her voice hitting him in the ears like a megaphone.

A minute later, she began to quiet. Then another woman began, singing faster, but a little deeper. She sounded angry, and violins accompanied her mood. She began to get very fast, belting out words far and loud, but they all flowed together like knots tied into a string. She kept a pitch for many seconds, letting the vowel travel to every corner of the world. Now she sounded panicked, then everything went loud, violins, trumpets, and other instruments rising to match the temperature of her voice!

Max swallowed, a feeling in his gut stirring as the instruments and the woman's voice lowered. But she began again, slow and clear.

Max didn't know how long he had been sitting there. Minutes? Hours? Days? He couldn't tell. He only counted a dozen or more singers, men and women all taking turns to breathe out their deep, bone shaking songs, helped by the orchestra beside them. When the singer was angry, the trumpets and horns roared, when they were sad, the violins cried, and when they were happy, the flutes sang.

He had his eyes closed still, not sure if he was asleep or awake, dwindling in that state of semi-consciousness that wasn't entirely aware of everything happening. It was only when everything went quiet, and he felt a hand on his that he was brought back to the real world. He opened his eyes, expecting to see someone and was confused for a second before remembering that he was blind.

"It's over now." Walter whispered, helping Max up from his seat. "What did you think of it?" He asked, sounding very excited.

"It was…" Beautiful? Wonderful? Fucking awesome? "really, really great!" Walter breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm very happy to hear that, Max, I really am."


	11. Heritage

**Chapter 11**

* * *

 **To Hegemone (ee-Ya-mo-ne): Thanks, it was very nice to write. Too bad it couldn't last :)**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: As you very well should be.**

 **To Guest: Oh same, completely and utterly**

 **To neoxistatehuaki: I've taken your deep and thoughtful analyses into consideration and have concluded thusly: |3**

 **To Cam: Yeah, our boi has been growing as a person a little bit. Thank you, I was wondering whether or not I would write the opera well or not. My method was listening to opera music and writing how it sounded and how Max might react to it. In regards to the 2nd half of your review; I shall hafta remain mum.**

* * *

Max was confused. It was February 14th, Valentines Day, and those 2 were acting as if nothing was wrong. He knew for a fact that their debt was due on the 15th and that they more than likely didn't have the cash to pay it back. The man had been unusually short tempered for the last week, to the point that he'd snap at Max for walking into the room, or even breathing too loudly. But he hadn't been belted, oddly enough, even when he pushed his limits and asked him if he was finally getting insecure about his chode. Max heard him stomp in his direction, but he stopped a few steps short, and told Max to go to his room.

So yeah, he was confused.

His lessons with Walter were the same as always, he was just made to read braille at a faster pace. He'd been asked if he wanted to go to his and Damien's for dinner on Friday. He said yes of course, even before telling those 2 about it.

He was in the middle of listening to Eminem's "Cleaning out the closet" under his covers when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He turned the phone off immediately, shoved it under his pillow and threw the covers off.

"What?" He said to the door.

"Dinner, Max." The woman said. She didn't sound as raspy as before, nor did she reek of smoke as much as she used to, but Max could still smell the residual scent off her if she got too close.

"Bring it in here." Max ate most of, scratch that, all of his meals alone nowadays. He couldn't stand the silence that rung between him and those 2. In school he had Walter and his classmates to chat with, when he was alone he had music to listen to, but when he was with them there was nothing. No talk of how his day was, how he was coping with being blind, nothing at all. They weren't interested in his life, which was fine, he had zero interest in theirs too.

"I'd rather you eat with us today." She said.

" _The fuck? When do 'they' ever want to eat with me? She can go eat my ass!"_

"Fuck no!" He yelled.

She paused. He wondered if she was still there, contemplating whether or not to try again. He heard the door's hinges creak open, a gust of wind breezing into his room.

"Go away!" He growled, bristling at her just waltzing into his room like this.

"Please." She said, sounding tired. "Eat with us, just for today."

Max was taken aback. She never _pleaded_ with him. Not a month ago she would've sooner dragged him by the ear to wherever she wanted him to go. Hell, she had done that countless times over the years. She dragged him to the bathroom to force a bar of soap in his mouth if he cursed at her or the man, she dragged him out of bed to get ready for school, and she dragged him pretty much anywhere he didn't want to go.

"Fine." Max grumbled, deciding to humour her this one time. Maybe she'd have something interesting to say.

The kitchen smelled of curry, and not take-out, actual home-made curry. Max took a long, deep sniff of the food, his mouth salivating at the scent.

He heard the scrape of wood on the kitchen tile. He took a seat at the table, able to tell that the man was across from him by the sound of his breathing. He found himself bristling again. Maybe the bitch hadn't been as bad as she was before, but he was no doubt only worsening. Until the last week or so he was eager to whack Max across the head, or belt him if his mood was foul enough.

"Firstly," The woman said, breaking Max's train of thought. "you're going to have a brother."

"Oh." Max didn't know what to say to that. Up until now he had just thought of the thing in her stomach as an 'it', no more than a lump of cells that was slowly being killed by its acid-blooded host.

"Secondly, you know of the…trouble we were in, with that man who came to our house-"

"You mean Emile, the Russian who poured toxic shit into my eyes because you two couldn't pay him back for whatever you bought from him? Yeah, I'm familiar with him." He made his voice and tone as sour and bitter as he possibly could. He wanted them to know that he hadn't forgotten, nor had he forgiven them.

"Yes. Him. Well, we don't need to worry about that money anymore, it isn't a problem. We've decided that we're not going to buy from him anymore too."

Max scoffed. "That would've been fantastic 2 months ago." Was this meant to be a consolation? Did they think that quitting now would help him? His jaw hurt with how hard his teeth were clenched.

"We know." She said. "We're sorry."

Max raised his head, his jaw went slack and his hands fell to his sides.

"You're 'sorry'?" He asked, not quite believing his ears. This, like much else, was a trick, a rouse to get him to let his guard down around them. This was part of their long game. Ever since he was blind she had been playing him, working her way up to this moment just so she could smash it all down again. Or at least, she'd get _him_ to do it instead.

"Are you sorry, _Dad_?" Max swallowed, the work running like bile over his tongue. "Are you!?"

There was a pause. Everybody was holding their breath, even the woman, with her perpetual tobacco-breath, didn't make a sound.

"Yes." The man said. To Max, he was about as convincing as a 5-year-old doing the nativity scene in a god-awful school play.

"Bull. Shit." Max said, letting the words slide from his mouth. He enjoyed saying them, they came out like fluttering butterflies, and they left a smirk on his face.

"You really are a little bastard." The man said in a loud whisper. "Just an ungrateful little pest who-"

"Daniel!" The woman exclaimed.

"Fuck off, woman!" The man stood quickly, his chair falling to the floor. Max was going to do the same but the front of his hoodie was clutched in an iron grip. "You are an ungrateful little pest who shits on everything we give you!" He was yelling now, and Max could smell the whiskey on his breath.

"And what the fuck did _you_ give _me_?" Max demanded, very close to telling the bastard where he could go shove himself.

"Everything we fucking could! A home to live in, clothes to wear, and food for you to shove down that bastard mouth of yours! We didn't need to give you anything and yet you sit there like a dog and expect more from us! The things I gave up to come to this piss-pot country and raise a brat who isn't even mine! Fuck it all! Fuck you, you little bastard, fuck you Sashi, for dragging me into this, fuck that faggot and his fucking mafia, and most of all, fuck that whore Aayushi, for squeezing this little fucker into my lap!"

By the time he finished his ranting and raving, Daniel was panting like a dog in the sun, wheezing and grunting as if he'd run a marathon.

Meanwhile, Max, who had taken to digging his nails into the man's wrist, had stopped his efforts and let the words yelled into his ears settle. The man loosened his grip. Max fell to the floor, bonking the back of his head on wood. He ignored it, the separate words finally coming together and telling him what was just said.

"You…"

"Daniel!" The woman yelled, her voice filled with something Max hadn't heard in a while. "What have you done?"

The next few minutes were a blur to Max. There was a lot of yelling, some things were thrown, glass shattered, but it all ended with a sharp slapping sound, and the violent slamming of the front door. Then there was sobbing, quiet, short sobbing.

"What…" Max said, not sure which question he should ask. "What?"

The sobbing went quiet for after a few seconds, and Max heard the woman approach him, her feet making a long and solemn 'pat-pat' on the tiles.

"You weren't supposed to…" She started, giving up on the sentence halfway through. "He shouldn't have said what he said."

Max raised his head, hoping that it at least _looked_ like he was looking her in the eye.

"So, is it true?"

She didn't say anything for a while. Max only heard her short breaths. Now she sounded like the one who'd run a marathon.

"Yes."

"What parts?" Max snapped. "Is he my Dad? Are you my Mom? Who the fuck is Aayushi?" He yelled, standing and balling his hands into fists.

"This…" The woman started, letting the sentence hang before finishing. "This isn't how I wanted you to find out, Max, it really isn't."

"That doesn't answer my fucking question!" His patience was wafer thin. He wasn't sure he could put up with anymore dancing around the questions before he lashed out at her.

The woman took a deep breath before speaking again. There was more scraping of wood on tile, but Max stayed where he was, only vaguely facing her direction. "No, we are not your birth parents."

"Then who are you!? Why the fuck am I with you instead of my real mom and dad!?"

"I'm…I'm your aunt, Max, godmother too."

"And him?" Now, 'that man' was really just 'that man', not the guy he refused to call 'dad'.

"My husband. Your uncle by marriage."

"So what? You just took me from my real parents? Is that what happened? Why the fuck am I-" She cut him off.

"In the eyes of the law, we are your parents. We adopted you."

"Fucking why!?" He yelled. Why the fuck was this happening? Not only was he raised by those two shits for nearly 11 years, turns out he was legally _given_ to them by some other bitch! The mere thought of it made his useless eyes sear.

"She, she couldn't look after you, your mother I mean. She was my sister, younger sister. Too young." She trailed off. "She was 14 when she found out she was expecting you." She didn't say anymore about it, but Max wasn't done yet.

"The picture!" He yelled. "I have a picture of _you_ holding _me_ when I was a baby! You were even in the fucking hospital gown!"

"What, what picture?" The woman asked.

Max wasn't surprised she didn't know about it, no-one did, except for him of course. He had to know though, so he made his way back to his room as quickly as he could, got down to his hands and knees and crawled under his bed, ignoring the ache as his head bumped against the bedframe. He found the box, the one he kept Mr. Honey-Nuts and his camp t-shirt in. He ripped the lid off, he heard the card-board tear a little, and reached in, moving the bear to the side and feeling around the tee. His fingers glossed over it, the old, dry card. He pulled it out slowly, being careful not to tear it. Dust glazed across his fingers, built up from years of dis-use.

This picture, one he held onto for years and years, the one he looked at whenever things were looking shitty, like if he had a bad day at school or had just been spanked, he'd always look at this picture and it would make him feel at least a little better. The last time he looked at it for comfort was nearly 4 years ago, right after he'd been belted for the 1st time. It was a shitty birthday to say the least.

He could vaguely remember what the polaroid looked like. He could feel the worn tear on the right side, the link to the other half he never saw. He could picture himself, bundled in a blue blanket with his hair as bushy and untameable as ever. He had been facing away from the camera, his face against the woman's, no, the girl's chest, no doubt suckling her milk. The girl herself had his own eyes and dark skin, and her hair had been a carpet of tangles and rugged curls. He had always thought it was that woman, back when she could be called pretty. But no, this wasn't a woman, this was a girl, Aayushi, who had given him up to those 2.

The picture warped slightly under his grip. He scrambled from under his bed and made to run into the kitchen but ran into something before he made it out of the room. "Watch it!" The woman barked, voice raspy in fright.

"This picture!" Max growled, holding the polaroid up in the general direction of her voice. He felt it pulled from between his fingers, then he heard a small gasp.

"I forgot about this picture." She mumbled. "Where did you get it?"

"Had it forever!" Max said. It was the truth, he didn't know where it came from, just that it was always there.

"Yes, that is Aayushi, your birth mother." She said. Max heard the bedsprings coil. He made no move to join her.

"Who's my real dad then?" The thought just occurred to Max that whoever the man was, he must've been the scum of the earth to knock up a 14-year-old and then just ditch her like that.

"I don't know." The woman said, the first time she sounded sure of herself all day. "We never even met him. He was just a tourist, and he was gone before she even knew about you."

Did that make it any better? The man still did it with a girl. Fuck, Ered was that young, and he couldn't imagine her being a very good mother at this point. Besides, her F.B.I dads would probably terminate anything with a functioning penis that came within range of their daughter.

"Do you even know his goddamn name?" He asked, hoping for at least that modicum of information. "Or where he was from."

"No. She wouldn't tell us anything about him, she point-blank refused to say a word."

"Why the fuck would she do that!?" He was getting frustrated again. These 'answers' only brought up more questions.

"I've asked myself that countless times, Max. Why would my little sister say nothing about the father of her child and make him take responsibility? It's boggled my mind for years." She trailed off. Max assumed she was dwelling on the question but had neither the patience nor the apathy to let her continue.

"Where is she?" He asked. If he could, he would find her, and fucking murder her for leaving him with these 2 pieces of trash!

"Dead."

Well that put a wrench in that plan. In less than half-an-hour he had gone from having 2 shitty parents, to having and aunt and step-uncle, then a new set of parents on top of them, but in the end, he's left with a dad who doesn't know he's a thing, a dead mom, and the same old shitty aunt and uncle, with a cousin/brother on the way.

"How long?"

She waited a moment before speaking, and when she did she sounded as if she had smoked a thousand cigarettes since she last spoke. "10 years. She killed herself when you were only a few months old, but not before giving me guardianship. That's when we adopted you."

That…that was interesting to hear. It knocked the rage-filled wind right out of Max's gut. All of a sudden, he didn't want to ask anymore questions.

"Whatever. Go away and leave me alone."

The bedsprings coiled again, and she left without a word, closing the door behind her.

He lay in bed, just thinking and thinking about what he'd just learnt. He wasn't _their_ child, that was a consolation to the whole thing at least. He would never even have to think about them as parents again. Not that he did anyway, but now it seemed less superficial and petty. On the opposite hand, he was still stuck with them, stuck with them legally until he was 18. Unless…

He had been adopted once before, why not again? He knew that was always on the table, he always could've just gone to a teacher or the police and just say; "Hey, my parents do drugs and beat me" and he'd have been taken away. The problem was that he didn't know where he'd end up. He could be sent to live with better people or be left in foster care until he was too old to be looked after by the state. He thought that would be guaranteed since he was blind now. Why look after a blind, ill-behaved, foul mouthed brat when you could have the angelic little angel in the next room?

But now, he had an out. He could tell Damien and Walter, couldn't he? They showed that they could at least tolerate having him around, maybe they would pity-adopt him. He could learn all of their weird phrases and go to every opera with them. Walter could teach him every way to make life easier for them, which cues to listen for and how to make his way around in general. Couldn't he do that?

He could, but would they? Neither of them had ever said anything about looking for a child. Maybe they wouldn't just talk to a kid about that kind of stuff. It really was personal. Max then remembered a movie he saw years ago. 'Matilda' was its name, about a psychic girl who'd been born with terrible parents but was adopted at the end by her nice teacher. The parallels between that and his own situation made him smile.

It was a risk though. He could tell them, they could tell the police or the school or whoever fucking took children like him away, and then he'd be shipped off to become part of 'The System'.

Was it worth it? He'd need to weigh the pros and cons of that decision.

During their lessons the next day he debated telling Walter then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Nor could he on Thursday.

It'd been a quiet couple of days. The man didn't show his face for the rest of the day on the 14th, nor on the 15th, but on the 16th, the Thursday, he came stumbling in on the evening after Max was home from school. He'd been getting his clothes ready for the next day. He decided that he was going to tell them everything at dinner and ask them point-blank, "Will you adopt me?".

It was the surest way to go about it. If they said yes, then great, if not, then at least he'd know. The System could swallow him then because he damn sure wasn't going to be able to do better than them. Well, maybe David, but that was an even more obscure goal than what he was aiming for right now.

This was definitely the way to go.

Pizza was for dinner that night, apparently with sausage, peppers and jalapeños. Max didn't get to take a bite of it before the front door opened, wind gusting in and a reek coming with it.

He heard the man stumble his way to the table and pull the pizza box towards himself, noisily inhaling the slices. Max bit into his own, his nose and ears cringing at the man's mere presence.

"I didn't know if you'd come back." The woman said.

The man grunted in response. Standing and stomping over to the fridge. Max heard the spritz of an opening can and the glug-glug-glug of the man downing his drink.

"Well?" He asked, seating himself at the table again.

"Well what?" Max snarked, despite knowing the man got especially touchy after a drink or two.

"What's your fucking deal, bastard?" He growled.

Bastard? Suddenly that affectionate nickname made a lot more sense. He was literally a bastard, being 'raised' by a man who wasn't even related to him by blood. All the times he thought it was just meant to be an insult, but really, he was being told the truth.

Max shrugged. "Nothing, just enjoying the pizza."

"So, Sashi," He said, his tone donning an air of faux-seriousness. "now that he knows what's what, how long until we send him away?"

That left a pregnant pause in the room. The woman sighed.

"We're not." She said, not sounding nearly as steadfast as when she said her sister was dead. Meanwhile, Max was smirking to himself.

"Why?" The man asked, sounding both annoyed and pleased. Max bet that now he was going to blurt out all the reasons he was a waste of space. "He isn't ours-"

"He's mine."

"Barely. Besides, remember what that faggot said, as long as the bastard's here, we lose our dealers." His tone suggested complete conversational victory. Max wondered what Emile would think about being called a faggot. Maybe he should let him know next they met, maybe the man's eyes would be gouged out. That was satisfying to think about, and Max could hardly stop his little smirk evolving into full-blown laughter.

"We don't need those anymore." The woman said, her voice still not as solid as the man's.

"You might not, but you know how I get when I withdraw." That was a threat, as well as a cautionary warning. If the man had gotten withdrawal symptoms over the years, Max didn't know when. He was always the same amount of asshole to him.

"Ev-even so. I still have to think about our other child."

"Other!?" The man barked in laughter. "You still want to consider this failed-abortion a child?" He chuckled, as if he were just told a funny joke. "What makes you want to play mother to it after all these years?"

" _It?"_ Max thought. He wasn't offended though, that man was too high on his shit-list of worthless people to have his words sting anymore.

"He is your son by law." She said, sounding more frustrated than angry, as if trying to bring a child around to her way of thinking. "Why can't you just accept that?"

"You know why. I won't bother telling you again, woman." He sighed. "Just one phone-call could let _us_ start _our_ lives." He dropped the tone, and almost spoke to her as if he were pleading.

Max let out a single, loud laugh at that.

"What?" The man sounded ready to kill. "What the fuck do you find so funny, bastard?"

He knew he shouldn't say anything, he knew he shouldn't, but the urge to just shove it in their faces was too strong.

"Just wait 'til tomorrow, you won't have to make that call." He said, trying to will himself to stop.

"And why is that?" The man sounded as if he couldn't care less.

"Because tomorrow at dinner I'm gonna ask Damien and Walter to adopt me away from you 2." God, that felt good. Max felt like a little kid again, happily playing in the ball-pit while waiting for the pizza to come out.

His laugh started out small, then it got louder and louder, until he was full-on doubled over.

Max frowned. What did the man have to find so funny? Sure, maybe he'd be happy that Max was going to try and get away by himself, but why was he this fucking ecstatic.

"What the hell is so funny!?" He demanded, slamming his fists down on the table.

"Irony." The man said, coming down from his high. "You think we're shit, but you have absolutely no clue about those faggots, do you?"

"Don't call them that!" Max shouted. He didn't care what the fucker said about the likes of Emile, but he _wouldn't_ let him say things like that about Damien and Walter. "Both of them are 100 times the man you are you stupid cunt!"

The man laughed again, pounding his fist on the table. "I can't take it!" He bellowed, but it was drowned out by more laughter.

Max felt his ears heat up. Now he was getting angry. What the fuck did he know that Max didn't? What the fuck was so goddamn funny?

"SHUT UP!" Max picked up his unfinished slice of pizza and threw it in the direction of the laughter. He heard it splat against something that definitely wasn't a person.

"100 times the men, you think so?" The man quieted his laughs, now sounding giddy.

"1000 times! 1,000,000 times! They're better than anything you could ever be!" He yelled, tears almost brimming his eyes. He could _not_ let them be pissed on like that. He absolutely could not.

"Really? Well, what if I told you that the reason you can't fucking see was because of that Irish fucker? What if I told you that Emile, the one who poured that shit into your eyes, works for him, and that he's the one who made the shit in the first place. Hm? Is he still 1,000,000 times the man I am?"

No. It was a lie. There was no way any of that was true. Damien wasn't some drug dealer, neither was Walter. No way. He was just saying this to psych Max out. It was just another one of his games, a final taunt.

"You're so full of shit." Max grit his teeth, ready to lash out at the man if he got any closer. He didn't move though, he only chuckled.

"Fine, don't believe me, ask him yourself. Or don't. I couldn't care less at this point. Enjoy that dinner tomorrow and see if you can stomach being in the same room as the man who _really_ fucked up your life."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, please leave a review and tell me what you thought of this chapter's revelations. I did have this planned from the start so I'm hoping it was executed well.**


	12. Confrontation

**Chapter 12**

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 **To Chickenspoon42: Yeah, shit fell. Matilda was only adopted in the movie, but Max hasn't read the book (nor have I) so that's all he knows. Also I remembered incorrectly, she wasn't adopted by the Wormwoods and thought she was, that's fixed now. Hopefully this chapter will satisfy your urge to see Max interact with Damien and Walter.**

 **To TheAngelicPyro: Yup.**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: I'm glad you think it makes sense, I was worried it might seem a bit ham-fisted. And thank you, I love the story too :D**

 **To American-boa: I always knew that they would end up not being his parents, so Sashi cheating never really occurred to me, but it would've been a good alternate. I'm glad you're liking the story anyway.**

* * *

On Friday, Max was very quiet during his lesson with Walter. He only read out the sentences as he felt them and gave one-worded answers to any question. He was so quiet and unresponsive that it prompted Walter to ask; "Is anything the matter, Max?" as they ended the second lesson.

"I'm fine. Why?" He snapped, wanting to say something along the lines of: "Your Irish ass husband runs the mafia and because of him I'm blind and I want nothing more than to stab him in the face!" but he restrained himself.

"It's just, you've been a bit peeved today, and I'm just wondering if you're well?" He sounded genuine. Too genuine. It made Max wonder if he knew about Damien at all. Surely even a blind man wasn't that, well, blind. If he didn't, and Damien wanted to keep it a secret, then Walter learning the truth would be payback. On the other hand, if he _did_ know, then he clearly didn't feel all that bad about it seeing as he was so goddamn chummy all the time!

"It's nothing, I'm fine." He knew he was being cold, and he liked it.

"Hmmm! If you say so." He didn't sound remotely convinced, and that this definitely wasn't forgotten. "Anyway, Dame'll be picking us up at 16:45, so we best pack up."

They were waiting at the front gates when a car pulled up, and Damien's voice shouted; "Cab for those with optical difficulties!" Walter laughed, but Max silently seethed. He wanted to yell: "It's your fucking fault you motherfucker!" but knew this was neither the time or place.

The car seats weren't as comfortable as he remembered, but that was probably due to the fact that he refused to unclench his body while around those 2.

"How do you feel about beef stew, my boy?" Damien said. Max's nails dug into his jeans. His voice, his stupid, Liam Neeson sounding voice made him want to tear his own hair out. No, it made him want to scratch out the man's eyes with a rusty fork!

"It's fine." He grumbled, not caring what he was going to be served.

The drive went on for over a half-hour, during which the happy couple bickered half-heartedly about the superior type of potatoes to have with the stew. Walter was on the side of roasted, while Damien was vehemently in support of mashed. The argument ended with Damien shouting;

"Fine! Have your roasted potatoes you barmy, protestant bastard!"

"Oh you're one to talk, you ginger, catholic midget! Have your mashed 'spuds' if they're so damn important to you!" Walter retorted. Despite himself, despite this whole morbid situation and everything Max knew, he smiled to himself, repressing a small laugh at the men's loud accents and colloquial insults.

"You don't even know what ginger looks like!" Damien yelled. "And I am _**not**_ a midget!"

Neither of them said anything for a while, and the car was silent bar the radio. It was finally broken when Walter began giggling, similar to how the girls in Max's class did. Then Damien joined in with his more baritone chuckle, and before long they were both laughing whole-heartedly.

Again, Max found himself needing to stop from joining in. He couldn't afford to forget what had happened, what they, or at least Damien, are responsible for.

A little later, they slowed, and Max heard the tires track over stony gravel. They stopped, and Max heard his door open next to him.

"Hop on out, my boy." Damien said, placing a hand lightly on Max's shoulder. He bristled, tempted to lean his head over and chomp on his fingers. It'd hurt, but no, he would wait. He got out of the car and let himself be led indoors. The place smelled…nice. There was a meaty, broth-like smell wafting through, making him salivate. Beyond that, there was just a homey smell to the place, as if it were one of those big family homes you saw on TV, with the big idiot dad, the hot mom and their 3 kids. But this wasn't that kind of a home. It was the home of a drug-lord asshole and his blind side-kick!

Max was snatched from his reverie by the sound of a vinyl-scratch. Music filled the air, Max recognised it but couldn't remember who the artist was.

"I'll check on the food." Damien said, walking off.

"Come, sit." Walter said, taking Max by the hand. He felt himself get lifted with a squawk, and was planted on a soft, leathery surface. "Is our couch up to your standards?" The blind man asked with a light chuckle.

Max sat back. It _was_ comfortable and feeling Walter's body heat next to him made it more so. The way he spoke, it almost made him forget Daniel's words. Maybe, by a stroke of cosmic luck, it was just a lie, and he was being a cold and nasty little shit to these two guys for no reason other than a sick man's mind-games. He hoped that was the case, he really did.

"Yeah, it's nice."

"Is…is everything really okay, Max? You've been awfully quiet today." Walter asked, his voice dripping with sugary concern.

The boy pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, his forehead leaning against his knees. He wanted to say "No god dammit! Everything is not fucking okay!" but just mumbled a timid; "Yeah."

Walter placed a hand on his back, a broad, somewhat bony hand that brought to mind images of the grim reaper. Yet this wasn't the cold, clammy appendage of death, this was Walter, the 'David' of home, the man who taught him and reassured him that he'd be fine in this black world. The man who showed him what music could really be like and that things would be okay. Could he possibly have had a hand in the incident that took his sight from him?

No.

Max refused to believe it, not now, not after everything.

"Is everything okay…at home?"

Max balked, his head snapping up to face Walter's voice. How the hell would he know anything about his home life!? Was he in on the whole thing after all? Was Damien having people spy on him, stalk him and learn everything he could about him? Why would he do that? Was he going to be used as a pawn to wrangle their debt out of them, just like last time? Well that definitely wasn't going to work, not after yesterday's display.

"How? What…"

Walter sighed. "When we were buying your suit, Damien saw your back when you were changing into the shirt, and he saw…welts. From a belt."

Oh. He didn't think those would still be that noticeable.

"What about it?" Max huffed. "The man's an asshole."

"Your father, you mean?"

"He isn't my dad!" Max shouted. He felt Walter's fingers pull away briefly, but they settled on his back again. "He never was."

"Max, I know parents can be difficult, trust me I know, but wounds heal and-"

"I wasn't being metaphorical, Walter, I mean he literally isn't my dad. He never wanted to be but he had to adopt me so there! That's what I meant." Max let his words be muffled by his jeans. "That's why he hates me."

"Oh, Max." Max felt Walter's arm snake around his shoulders, and he heard the leather squeak as the man moved closer to him. "I am positive he doesn't hate you. You can't raise a child and not care for him, you just can't. It's human nature."

"Then he isn't even human." Max growled. "I don't care if he hates me, 'cause I hate him too! I want him to burn in hell! That bitch too! That lying, stupid, big, fat cunt can go burn with him!"

He heard Walter gasp, but his arms never left him. "Max, I, I can't condone that sort of language towards your parents. Please, calm down, and if you want we can talk and-"

"What's all this commotion?" Damien interrupted, rushing into the room.

"YOU!" Max yelled, sliding from the couch and facing the man's voice. "You're just as bad as those 2 fuckers!"

"Max, please calm dow-"

"Shut the fuck up Walter!"

"Hey!" Damien barked. "I can't fathom what's brought this on, but in my house-"

"You know just what fucking brought this on! This is all your fault! Everything! You know it is!" Max didn't notice it, but the tears that had been brimming his eyes for the last few minutes began to fall.

"What are you talking about?" Damien sounded much calmer than he did a few seconds ago. "Let's just calm down and-" He took a few steps forward, but Max lashed his arms out, ready to slash at the man with his nails.

"You know what I'm talking about! I know you do! He told me, he told me that you're the guy 'Emile' works for, that you're the one who made the shit they poured into my eyes! That means it's your fault I'm blind now!" Yelling all of that, right to the man's face almost felt like dropping a massive bag of flour from his shoulders. Almost. "Fucking admit it."

No-one spoke, the room filled with a heavy silence for minutes on end, the only sound being Max's laboured breathing.

"Just tell him, Dame." Walter said, sounding much sadder than Max had ever heard a person sound. "Just get it over with."

Damien sighed. "Yes, it's true. I did make the drug, 'saol-an-tsúil', yes, a man named 'Emile' works for me, and yes, he did pour toxic product into your eyes."

That…that hurt. He'd still been holding out hope that it was all just a big fat lie, that he was throwing a fit for nothing and that they would have absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He _wanted_ them to say "We don't know what you're talking about, please calm down and have dinner with us" but they didn't.

Max ran at Damien, his hands balled into fists so hard his nails were close to cutting him. His outstretched arm was caught by the man, so was the other one. He thrashed and pulled doing anything to get his arms back so he could choke him.

"But I didn't know that you were attacked until after the fact, Max. Believe me, I would _never_ have let this happen to you if I knew."

"Believe you!?" Max was getting tired now, but even so he persisted. "You're just a no-good, lying, asshole! Just like the rest of them! I thought, I thought…" His thrashing became half-hearted, and his arms were let go. He didn't go in for the attack again, but his nails were still on the verge of cutting his palms. "I thought you were different!" He yelled right in Damien's face, and when the man stayed quiet, he grit his teeth and growled. Against his will, a sob escaped his throat.

"Max?" Walter's soft voice said. He was right behind him, the boy could tell, but he didn't grab Max, or pull at him or smack him. Instead, he lightly placed his hands on Max's upper arms, and began rubbing up to his shoulders in slow, circular motions. It did help to calm him down. His fists unclenched, his shoulders fell, and his snarling face dissolved. He backed into Walter, feeling the wool of his sweater against his cheek.

Then the man embraced him, pulling him in close for a hug. Max saw it coming, but it still startled him. He didn't want to run, or thrash or punch or kick, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay there with the Englishman's lanky arms wrapped around him. Max turned, burying his face into the man's chest and letting him tighten his arms.

"You're not okay." Walter said, running a hand into Max's hair. "Not by a long shot."

Max let himself sob a few more times, and he clenched Walter's sweater in his hands.

"Damien?" Walter said, his tone immediately harshening.

"Yes?" It was a single, solemn syllable, as if he knew what was about to be said and, despite not liking it, resigned to his fate.

"Choose. Right now, me, or your _other life_." Those words were said with venom. Walter knew what they did to his husband, but he didn't care about that. Unlike when Sashi confronted Daniel, he was absolute.

"Walt-"

"It's a simple choice, Damien! You can either keep our marriage, or you can keep your…everything else. I'm sick and tired of this, for years I've let you do this because it was 'important' to you, because you said you couldn't just leave. Well now you'll have to, that is, if you still love me."

Another pause. Not even Max's breathing broke this one.

"It…" Damien said. Max could feel Walter trembling over him. He was scared. Was he scared of Damien choosing his 'other life' over him, or something else? "It isn't a choice. Of course it's you."

Max felt Walter physically relax. He'd gotten his desired answer.

"Good." Walter said, as if he'd finally put an end to a long drawn-out argument. "Now check the stew. And mash some potatoes while you're in there." Damien left, and Walter loosened his hold on Max. "Thank you."

"What, what for?" What did Walter have to thank Max for? He come in here, yelled at him and his husband, justifiably called them names and cursed them, and almost caused the potential dissolution of his marriage.

"I don't think I would've been able to say that if you weren't here, as a reminder of what happens when we're not together. I forgot I only ever saw the best of him."

A few minutes later, Max was on the couch again, next to Walter with a hand still clenched around his sweater. Then Damien walked in, and the mood soured somewhat. The almost-divorce had stagnated in the air a little bit. Another leathery squeak across from them told Max that Damien had taken a seat himself, probably on a matching leather chair.

Nothing was said, not until Max said something not even he expected he would. "Will you guys adopt me?" He clamped his lips shut after he realised what he'd said, covering his mouth with his hands as well.

"That was forward." Damien remarked. "But I'm afraid things aren't quite that simple."

"Why, why not?" Max asked. "They're shit, I mean, I think you are too, but Walt here's alright. And I could just say that they beat me, or that he's touched me or some shit and like that I'm taken in by the state, then you two come along with your gayness and adopt me. It's a win-win." That all sounded so much more legally sound in his head, but what the fuck, it was out there.

"Max, I'm not sure if-" Walter began, but his husband interrupted him.

"That could work." Max's head swivelled towards the man's voice. If one of them were going to oppose his suggestion he thought it would've been Damien. "He could put forward his testimony, I could put forward anything I could, and I am considered a U.S. citizen so adopting wouldn't be too difficult."

"Dame," Walter sounded surprised, but also on the verge of tears. "you're really willing?"

"Yes. If I'm giving up my other life, then I can give this one, the important one, all my attention. We'll adopt him, and then move to Canada like we always talked about. Start fresh."

"How does that sound, Max?" Walter asked, sounding like a little kid at an amusement park.

Was this really happening? Was he about to be adopted, legally taken away from those 2 pricks? Was he really getting his Matilda ending? Hell, even if Damien wasn't going to give up his 'other life' he and Walter were by far and away the better option. Now that he thought about it, had Damien really done him a worse lot than those 2? For most of his life they'd been making him miserable, with smacks, spanks and belts, as well as the daily dose of verbal assault that left him more pissed off than anything else. But because of Damien, that was going to change, he was going to get his Ered-inspired dream of having gay dads. They might not be F.B.I. but hell, they were far better than the alternative.

"That sounds great."

Later, they were all sitting at the dinner table. The stew smelled delicious, and it made Max hungrier than he thought he'd been. Damien placed the porcelain in front of him and the scent wafted up to his nose. When he tried to lean forward to get a better smell, he felt a hand against his forehead.

"Don't drown yourself in the stew." Damien said. Max felt his face get warm, so he turned his head away.

It was as good as it smelled, the beef, the carrots, the roasted potatoes, everything was so good. When they were finished, Max felt a cloth run across his mouth. There was a lot of gravy, so he guessed he did look a bit of a mess.

"There's one more thing!" Walter said, sounding excited again. "We did something we probably shouldn't have, and looked at your file in school, Max."

"Really?" There wasn't anything interesting in that file anyway, just the barebones of his profile, everything someone would publicly leave on a Facebook account.

"Yup," Walter answered. "and we saw what today was, so when you said you had no plans today, we went and got you this." There was a light clatter of something being placed on the table in front of him. It smelled chocolatey, and a bit creamy too.

"A cake?" He asked, confused why something in his profile would inspire them to buy him a cake. "Why…?"

"Happy Birthday, Max." The pair said at the same time.

Max felt a stone fall in his gut. There were right, he remembered now! February 17th was his birthday! He'd completely forgotten. It was never like the other 2 would ever celebrate it, at least not since the belting he got on his 7th. To think that Damien and Walter would do this for him. Tears almost brimmed his eyes again, but he willed them away, not wanting to be a sobbing mess in front of them again. "Um…thanks."

"There are candles, if you feel like blowing them out."

"And don't forget to make a wish!"

He made his wish, for this to happen, for them to adopt him, to be taken away from those other 2, for this whole mess to be over and done with.

After the cake was cut, and everyone had a slice, it was an ice-cream cake to Max's delight, a ringing echoed throughout the house.

"Now who could that be?" Walter asked.

"I'm not expecting anyone. Are you?"

"No."

Both of them sounded confused, and Max wondered who it was as well. Had the long arm of the law discovered Damien's doings? Did Daniel or Sashi rat him out? He sure as hell hoped not, or he'd kill them for sure.

"I'll see who it is." Damien said, slamming a drawer closed and walking away.

A few minutes passed, and nothing happened. There were voices at the door, speaking heatedly with Damien. Max could sense the tension in Walter, and he could tell that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

"Thanks." Max said, so fast that someone could've mistaken it for a bee's buzzing.

"It's no problem at all. We're happy to do it." Then there was a buzzing from Walter. "It's just my phone." Max heard the familiar clicks of the read-aloud system. The phone spoke.

"From Dame: 'HIDE!'."

That confused Max, and it didn't help when Walter cursed, rose and picked him up. "What's happening?" He asked as Walter carried him away.

"I don't know, but something bad must be happening for Dame to send a message like that!"

No, something like this couldn't be happening, not on today of all days! Max refused to believe it! But it couldn't be a trick though, could it? Walter would never do something like that, not after all that had already happened.

"There's a crawl space in the back of our wardrobe, so we'll hide in there." Walter said as they bounced up the stairs. He stumbled on the last step but caught himself before falling. Max didn't say anything. He let Walter do as he meant. He heard a small 'click' and then he was held tight. He was then enveloped by shrouds of fabric. "Just crawl straight forward Max, you'll come into a small room, so just stay there and hide." He whispered loudly.

Max did as was told and came to stop when his head bumped into a brick wall. He moved his arms around. The space he was in was big enough to stand in. "Walter?" He loud-whispered back.

"Coming." He responded.

Then there was a shout in a language Max didn't recognise. He heard a strange noise that sounded like massive chunks of wood being snapped in half. There were 3 more of these strange noises and with each one, Walter let out a half-suppressed cry. That odd language was spoken again, and Max heard the slamming of a door.

"W-Walter?" He said. He only heard scraggly, short breaths in response.

"M-M-Max." Walter said, barely able to get the single syllable out.

"Walter!" Max crawled back in the direction he came, feeling around for the man. He felt his hand, and Walter clenched tight around Max's fingers.

"Y-you're going to be fine, Max, they've gone now."

"But you're-"

"It's, it's fine, I was halfway in, s-so they only got my lower abdomen and legs…nothing I can't deal with." Just listening to him, Max could tell that every word was a struggle for him, each breath carried with it a strain of pain that couldn't be hidden.

"But, the blood…" Max could smell it, a metallic scent that almost made him want to vomit.

There were more of those wood-snapping sounds, farther away this time, but Max still heard them. More sounds, ones that made him jump, echoed throughout the house. Gunshots. Max could tell. There was accented yelling from downstairs, and more gunshots. Then, sirens. Loud, blaring sirens that Max could tell belonged to the men in blue.

"The police! They're here! Walter, the police are here!"

The Englishman said nothing back, his fingers still tightly clenched around Max's.

"Walter?" He wrenched one of his hands free and felt around for the rest of the man. His hair was soft and well-kept, if not a little greasy, his cheeks were stubbly, but it didn't feel like he had any proper facial-hair. His lips were a little chapped, but he felt a single heavy breath escape from between them. A lump rose in Max's throat.

"Walter?"

* * *

 **Tell me your thoughts on this chapter. Did you love it, hate it, are low-key hating that you love it? Let me know.**


	13. A Chance

**Chapter 13: A Chance**

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 **To Chickenspoon42: I believe I answered your nagging suspicion in a pm, if I'm mistaken just pm me and I'll answer. You're not the only one who's been peeved by using numerals in place of alpha-numerals, and there is a degree of grammatical incorrectness to what I've been doing, so I've stopped immediately and will be embracing the way of the written number from now on. Or maybe not, I might forget at times.**

 **To TheAngelicPyro: *insert image of black bear in front of a bonfire declaring: Why? For the glory of Satan of course!***

 **To Guest(1): Refer to message to TheAngelicPyro.**

 **To neoxistatehuaki: Lo siento, pero no siempre conseguimos lo que queremos.**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: He's clever man.**

 **To nathanmonroe14: God only knows what'll happen to that poor boy (fyi: I am God, at least according to my D &D players).**

 **To Guest(2) Are you gonna cry like a drunk 10 year old who lost their dog, or a drunk 20 year old who lost half of their dog?**

 **To Citrus Scented Candle: I love that you're hating that you love this :) Also, no, he cannot.**

 **To NyanMew123: Thanks :)**

 **To Guest(3): The guy on AO3 and I are one and the same, as is that guy on Wattpad. Worry not about plagiarism, my friend, thank you for your concern.**

 **To Hey I guess: Thanks, I'm glad this isn't totally predictable.**

 **To Like A Pro 42: He was so close, wasn't he. And if you're looking for a reason as to why, refer to my to Guest(1). Also, in regards to David...**

 **To Hi there: Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying this :D Also, I've seen the error of my ways in regards to using "2" instead of "two", refer to my answer to Chickenspoon42 for further details.**

 **To Guest(4): I hope this satisfies you then.**

 **To JustARandomNerd: I'm glad you love this, I do too. I hope this chapter adequately answers your questions.**

 **To Guest(5): Who needs a heart anyway, they're not good for much. I'm sorry if you think the mood shifted to dramatically, it was a concern of mine, but at the end of the day I'm happy with what I've written. If only Max had been with them longer, maybe he have gotten that apology some day.**

 **To Guest(6): Thank you, I hope this chapter has been worth the wait. I don't plan on having Max 'stumble' into the camp, it's been a carefully planned process. Also, I'm not much of a GwenVid shipper, but who knows what'll happen.**

* * *

Max shifted and turned, tangling himself under his quilt as he adjusted to the day. A rooster's cry wailed into his ear. He slapped his hand down in the general direction of the noise, hitting the lumpy mattress a few times before feeling the cold plastic cover of his phone. He sat up and ran his finger across the screen a few times, finally silencing the ungodly alarm.

"Siri," He yawned. "what day is it."

She beeped twice. "Saturday, April 29th, 2017, Max."

"Whoop-de-fuckin-doo." He muttered. He went through the process of finding some alright smelling clothes to put on and, making sure they weren't inside-out, grabbed his cane and left the house. He'd been getting very good at finding his way around with it, no longer did he just wave it around and hope for the best. Now he actually knew what to look for and how not whack people in the legs. At least not by accident. Delia was good at teaching that, even though she could see just fine.

" _Only a few days left."_ He thought. That was a solace to him, and to the numbed welts that stretched across both butt-cheeks. In just two days the camp would be taking campers again, and he'd finally talk to David again. That voice message could only keep him company so much. He could only listen to: "Hellooooo! Thank you for calling Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell! We're sorry but due to a change in management and understaffing we are not accepting new campers until the 1st of May. Please call us back then and we'll give your child the adventure of a lifetime! Campe Diem!" so many times before the words became monotonous. Still, they let him remember David's voice, and that was better than nothing.

Max yawned, rubbing his eyes. He realized he forgot his glasses again. It didn't matter, not like the sun was shining anyway, not with this temperature. He thought about what he should do with his Saturday. He chuckled to himself, as if he wasn't going to do what he did whenever he had nothing to do. Despite not being able to see them, he could feel himself gravitating towards the golden arches.

He felt his shoe bump into a small crack in the concrete, letting him know he was right where he wanted to be. The automatic doors whooshed open and he walked into the ever-appetizing smell of cheap meat and chicken-nuggets.

"Mornin' Max." A nasal voice pitched its way into his ears as soon as he walked through the threshold of the door. He recoiled, tempted to walk right on out again, but knew that he had no choice. At least, not if he wanted cheap food and free Wi-Fi.

"Hey Sophie." He muttered. He could tell that the girl was close, the tell-tale giveaway being the perpetual smell of lemon-pledge hanging off of her. "Is there a free booth?"

"Third from the back." She said, taking a few steps closer to him. "Will you have the usual?" Her voice may have been annoying, but she wasn't all that bad, at least she knew what he liked. Hell, she'd even bring the food to him if she could, but Max suspected that courtesy was extended to everyone who couldn't make their way around without being kamikazed by a dozen hyperactive gremlins. Though, judging by the sound of the place there didn't seem to be more than a couple of tots running around.

"Yeah, but no fucking gherkins this time! There was one in my burger last time and I nearly fucking threw up!" God, he hated gherkins.

He went to the corner booth first and counted as went until he got to the sixth of the eight, and as per Sophie's advice, it was free. He shimmied across the seat until his back was against the wall and took out his phone. He put the earphones in his ears and turned on his totally legally-downloaded music. He bopped his head to Gorillaz' 'Clint Eastwood' for a while, until he felt a tap on his knee. The food smelled as good as McDonalds could. He reached into his pocket and held out a five dollar bill.

"I'll wait for my change." He said as he felt around for the burger.

"Sure thing, your highness." The girl snarked, but he heard her giggling to herself as she walked away. She was better than most others, she really didn't mind making things a little more convenient for him. During her lunch break a couple of weeks ago she told him that her own mother was a paraplegic, so she witnessed first-hand how people living with disabilities could find it difficult to integrate completely with others. Of course, Max was never what one would call a social butterfly, but even he noticed that ever since the new year, he was hanging around with people double his age and up more than his own peers. It's not that he was ostracised by his classmates, they still talked with him and all that shit, but he couldn't deny that there was a difference.

Of course, she never explicitly said anything like 'I know how difficult it is for you to integrate with others' but Max was good at reading between the lines. Subtle words and cues and hitches in breath. He'd gotten good at picking up on them in recent months.

Thankfully, there were no gherkins in the burger, but the ketchup was noticeably sparse. Still, it was good. By the time he washed the sesame-seeds from his teeth with his Fanta, Sophie was back with his change. He felt two dollar bills, a fifty-cent coil and a penny. Everything was accounted for.

"Thanks." He said.

"It's no problem, but my co-worker's giving me the stink-eye so I hafta get back to the kitchen. I'll see you later, kid."

"Sure, see ya."

He leaned against the wall again, earphones in and his head bopping to the music. He stayed there for a while, and when it was about 2 in the afternoon he got himself another burger, this one with a proper amount of ketchup. When the clock struck five, he decided it was time to go back to those two. He didn't want to, not by any stretch of the imagination but any later and it'd be seen as an excuse to beat his ass again.

Max cringed as the front door squeaked, it's rusted hinges letting them, more frighteningly, _him_ , know he was home. He wanted to quietly make his way to his bedroom, but as he passed the door living room he was stopped.

"Max?" She called, her voice sounding as if it were filtered through a distorted megaphone.

"What?" He said, nearly gagging at the atmosphere of smoke orbiting her.

"Get me another, another one from the fridge."

He knew exactly what 'another one' meant, and that it was better to just do it than to 'disrespect his grieved mother'. He knew the cans were kept in the bottom left drawer in the fridge, and he felt only two more in there.

" _Great."_ He thought, knowing how she got when there were none left. Well, he wouldn't be the one to break the news to her. He held his breath as he brought it to her, his eyes burning despite being kept as closed as physically possible.

"Here." He breathed, leaving it on her lap. She gave him a 'hmm' in thanks, and that was good enough for him. He just made it into his room when he heard the other bedroom door creak open. He hated not having a door anymore. He could feel breezes come in whenever the front door was opened, he could hear all too clearly the footsteps whenever either of them walked by and he just felt so exposed all the time.

He'd had a door up until two weeks ago, but he tried to push his wardrobe in front of it again so only he could get in or out. That just wouldn't do, so the hinges were screwed from the doorframe and his privacy went along with it. Apparently, his bedroom door now decorated the back wall of the house.

"You're on time for once." The man said. Max didn't jump or flinch anymore, he was too used to that godforsaken voice creeping up on him and digging into his ears.

"Yeah." He answered simply. A smart answer would just make things unnecessarily difficult, and he didn't have the energy to deal with his mood. Instead he crawled onto his bed, found the pillow, and waited for him to leave. He did after a few minutes of breathing into Max's room, apparently fed up of looking for a reason to beat his ass.

He just needed to bare it for two more days, then he'd know he'd have the camp to look forward to. He'd need to ask Sashi, that much was obvious. For the last month she'd been practically catatonic, just sitting on that couch all day every day, drinking her liver to death and only getting up to smoke out of the window. When she started with all that again he wondered why. She'd definitely been smoking less, given how it'd been easier to breath around her, and she was probably cutting down on the drink and whatever else she'd been ingesting too. But she started up again out of the blue.

Max didn't care, at least not in the beginning, but then he thought about the growth in her stomach, and how she'd at least attempted to care for it. Hell, she even tried to be better to him. Too little too late, but it still showed that she was trying. 'Why stop all of a sudden?' he wondered. He asked the man about it, and his answer was about as loving as a cactus-dildo.

"It died in her." He blurted out, well within earshot of his wife.

That was that question answered, and Max at least looked on the bright side; now it wouldn't have to grow up knowing it was directly related to those two. Max managed to put two and two together and realized that the reason the woman was so damn miserable was because she killed her own baby before she even named it.

He lay there, listening to his music until his rumbling tummy was too angry to ignore. Two burgers was apparently not enough food to tide him over for the day. Siri read out 7:36 when he asked her to. Max knew that going to get food was safest now. The man's trash TV shows started then so he wouldn't be bothered to bother Max if he went into the kitchen.

Max stole himself a few slices of bread, cheese, and Canadian bacon, not bothering with the tedium of butter. While he was in the fridge he felt around to see if they were out of cans yet. He smirked when he felt a few more next to the ones he'd felt earlier, now the man would be less likely to be in a bad mood later.

Max strained his ears for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't being watched. He heard a vague laugh-track from the living room followed by a lazy guffaw from the man. Smiling to himself, Max carefully took one of the cans from the drawer and slid it into his hoodie's front pocket. He grabbed his sandwiches and skulked back to his room, going immediately left to sit between his wardrobe and the wall.

The sandwiches were good, it wasn't often they had something as good as Canadian bacon in the fridge, but when they did he helped himself. A month ago he was given a few lashes with the belt over the kitchen table for 'being a greedy little fuck' when he dared to take a moderately healthy portion of ham from the man's stash. It was worth it though, it had more taste than McDonalds' cheese burger.

After he picked the last of the bacon from his teeth he took the can from his hoodie. The can was cold and wet against his fingers, damp from precipitation. He worked up and gurgled his throat until he forced a coughing fit out. He took that cover of sound to open the can with a sharp _spritz_. He strained his ears for a minute before taking the first sip. He had to swallow it quick before the urge to spit it out overcame him.

Cider. That was fine, he liked apple juice well enough, cider was just apple juice's stronger, more bitter cousin.

A few gulps more and Max could begin to feel the drink go to his head, making everything seem a bit fuzzier. It was a good fuzzy though, one that let him lean against his wardrobe and just forget about everything for a little bit. He focused on the taste dancing on his tongue. It wasn't too different from black coffee. Not in regard to taste, but in the feeling of it. He simultaneously wanted to swallow it and let it simmer there a little longer. He took another gulp, a longer one. He felt some of the drink dribble out of the corner of his mouth. He had to stop then, for a real coughing fit this time. Some of the drink went down the wrong pipe. He coughed it up again and washed it down with another swig of cider.

He rested in the corner, the still-cold can leaning against his crotch with his hands lazily keeping it from spilling. He felt tired, his usual reaction to drink, but he knew that if he drifted off like this the man would know he stole a can and undoubtably belt him for that, maybe even worse. He'd been threatened with a strip of tyre not long ago and didn't want to acquaint himself with it. The mere thought of what that would do to his ass made his welts tremble.

Max's thoughts wandered to the camp, to David, Gwen, Quartermaster, Neil, Nikki, and everyone else. What would they think once they saw him? Would they feel sorry for him? David certainly would, he'd apologise to a tree for scraping its bark. Gwen would probably be the more practical of the pair, realizing that he didn't need to be coddled like a helpless kitten. Would David let him take part in the camp activities, or would he be made to sit out 'for his own safety'? If he was being honest he wouldn't care about not doing the stupid stuff, but as long as he wasn't just shoved to the side until the end of summer everything would be fine.

Nikki would probably forget he was blind at times and try to drag him out into the forest on an adventure every other hour. He could see himself aimlessly wandering the woods all night if that became the case, that girl lost all sense of everything around her whilst on the hunt. David would probably call the coast guard to come help find him, or something as equally over the top. The last thing that camp needed was another nail in its legal coffin.

Max took another swig of the cider, enjoying the taste a lot more now that he was used to the bitterness. He downed the rest in one massive gulp, not stopping until every last drop went down his throat. It all went immediately to his head, giving him what he could only describe as a 'brain-rush'. It was kind of like brain-freeze but it wasn't really cold, it just put pressure on his face. He worked through it, realizing he was slightly tipsy, if that's what tipsy even was. Everything felt a little blurred, and he was sure that if he could see that the room would be spinning.

Max squeezed the can as much as he could and slid it under the wardrobe, telling himself to deal with it later. It felt like it took an age and a million stumbles, but Max wobbled his way to his bed, stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the covers. He felt around for his phone and played his music until he fell asleep.

Sunday was much the same, he woke up early, spent the day in McDonalds, made it home before his curfew, had sandwiches for dinner and went to sleep before the clock chimed 8. He didn't drink another can though. One could be missed easily, but two would stick out and his ass wasn't willing to pay that price.

Monday was exciting, he woke up at 6:30, got his shit together and walked to school as per usual, had his after school class with Delia, who went over safety-procedures and cautions he should take when out in public, and he went straight home when that was all done. The man wasn't there, thank Christ, and Sashi was in her usual seat, her hoarse breath acting like a beacon for him.

Max fished his phone from under his pillow, sat behind his wardrobe and called the number again.

 _Ring-Ring_

 _Ring-Ring_

 _Ring-Ring_

 _Click_

Max gulped. His hands were trembling, his palms sweating, "Mom's spaghetti." He whispered to himself.

"I beg your pardon?" The voice on the other end said, all too chipper.

"D-David?" Max asked, needing to make sure that this was the real guy and not some recording or trick.

"Yes. Hello? Are you calling to sign your child up for Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell? If so then you are our lucky first patron of the year!" He was excited, as was expected of David. He sounded just like he remembered.

"David, it's me, Max."

There was a pause, a brief pause where Max was worried the man had hung up on him.

"Max? Is it really you?"

"Y-yeah." He said, the sheer enthusiasm of the voice making him want to get up and dance himself. "Hey."

"It's great to hear from you again, Max. I wasn't sure if you'd be coming again this year." He chuckled. "Anyway, are you calling to sign up for camp again?"

"Yeah!" Max answered, a little too eager for his liking. "I mean, yeah, sure."

"Well alrighty then, but I'm afraid I'll need to talk to a parent first. Is that okay, Max?" The tone of David's voice sounded as if he was apologising for something, and Max wasn't surprised. David knew how shitty those two were, or at least had an idea, so it made sense he'd be sorry to have to talk to one of them.

"Yeah, hold on for a sec." Sashi wasn't technically his mother, but by law she would suffice to get him to the camp.

Max held his breath as he entered the tobacco cloud and called out to her. "Hey?"

He heard the couch springs shift. "Yeah?" She sounded gurgled, as if her voice itself was drunk.

"Here." He held the phone out in her general direction. After a minute he felt her take it from him.

"Hello?" She said, followed by David's unintelligible chatter from the other side. She uttered 'Uh-huh' and 'Yeah' a few times over what felt like 10 years for Max, and that would've been the same regardless of the cancerous-ozone he was in. "Okay. Goodbye." She finished.

"So, I can go, right?" Max asked, hoping she wouldn't bitch out and refuse him. He heard her lean back into her seat, breathe in and exhale.

"Sure."

Max didn't need to hear anymore, with a smile on his face he went back to his room, content in the fact that he was going to get away from this hell-hole once and for all as soon as school ended. He was so happy with himself that he didn't register the front door opening and slamming with a force so hard it shook the house.

He heard the man yell random curses that he could barely understand. He heard the words 'fucking bastards' and 'greedy cunts' multiple times before realizing that the man's heavy stomps were coming in his direction.

"You're here for once, you little bastard." He said with a swift gruffness that Max could tell was covering a deep, seething rage.

"Yeah, I am." It was hard for him to keep a completely neutral voice. Sure, he was ecstatic to be going to the camp, but he still had to deal with this bastard until then, and his mood was only getting fowler by the day.

The man didn't say anything for a few seconds, but Max could hear a few sharp intakes of breath. It sounded as if he were sniffing around.

" _Shit."_ Max thought, suddenly very aware of the can lying under his wardrobe, the one he forgot to dispose of properly. He hadn't noticed the scent initially, but now that it was called out he could smell it. Cider. It was faint but there all the same. If the man found it he'd make certain Max wouldn't sit for over a week.

"What's that smell?" He asked accusingly, almost as if he knew Max was hiding something. He felt himself begin to sweat under his hoodie, but he kept his face as stoic as possible. Any hint that he knew he did something wrong would mean trouble. The man was a bloodhound for guilt.

"I dunno?" Max shrugged. "Maybe your wife? All she does is sit there and drink herself to death." The man let out a low growl, one that reminded Max of a rabid dog. Good, if he got angry over Max 'disrespecting his mother' he'd forget about that smell, maybe give him a few lashes of the belt and be done with it. That would be mild compared to the alternative.

"You keep your bastard mouth shut, boy! You won't talk about my wife that way, not in front of me." Good, he was properly angry now, that smell would be completely forgotten.

"I'll say what the fuck I want, retarded cunt." He said that last insult under his breath but made it loud enough so he'd definitely hear it.

The man stormed at him, but Max didn't try to move. He never got away, the man had too many advantages over him. Max felt a ringing clout bash him over the ear, sending him into the side of his bed and leaving him disoriented. His head felt like a bell was going off inside it, but he put up with it.

" _Just think of the camp!"_ He said to himself. _"Just think of the camp, he can't stop me from doing that!"_ Max gasped as he was choked by his hoodie. The man then yanked it off over his head. He knew where this was going, he'd been through this particular dance more times than he'd have liked but he could deal with it. He'd gotten pretty good at gauging the man's temper, and right now this was about a five, in other words, he'd probably be sitting fine for tomorrow's classes.

Max heard the springs of his bed moan as he was dragged by the hair over the man's lap. He noted that the belt hadn't come off. That meant he was just going to use his hand, which meant he'd be here for about as twice as long as he would if the belt was used. These hand-spankings were drawn out, slow-stinging affairs, their own brand of torture. It contrasted the belt, which was fast and struck like lightning, Over and done fairly quickly but with 'effective' results.

Max felt his zipper strain over his crotch as his jeans were being forcibly pulled down, along with his underwear. The man didn't waste any time basking in the glory of Max's bare ass, instead he lay the first stinging swat onto his still-raised welts. He grunted, annoyed with himself for already being bothered by the very first slap.

Slap after slap echoed through the small bedroom, each one followed by the faintest of sounds from the boy, who was doing his best to remain stoic and unfazed. It worked for a while, but the slaps became progressively heavier and his resistance was slowly being chipped away. Max's legs bucked, and the urge to throw his hands back to cover his smarting cheeks ebbed at him. He knew that was a terrible idea though, and instead clutched the man's pants instead.

The man began to smack Max's sit spots, then his thighs, then back to his cheeks. He went through this cycle for what felt like years to Max. The only time he was given a break was when the man dragged him across the other side of his lap so he could smack him with his other hand.

Max willed himself not to cry, he willed it so hard it itself hurt, but eventually he broke. He let the tears spill freely, but he absolutely refused to sob, instead letting out little hiccups of pain. He heard the man chuckle lightly, as if he'd won a victory. He had, in his own twisted little way. Not everyone saw making an eleven year old cry out of pain as a victory, but he did, and the fact that this was only the pettiest of victories consoled Max somewhat. It still hurt like hell though.

Later, after what felt like an eternity, the man stopped. Max wanted so badly to reach back and rub away the red sting, but he couldn't yet, not while _he_ was watching. He was pulled to his feet by his hair and forced to walk in an awkward shuffle until he was shoved against a wall. The corner, he realized. The man had started this brand of torture last month, making him stand against the corner after a spanking or a belting for god knows how long. If he was found out of his two-walled cell before being told he could leave, he'd be pulled over the man's lap or bent over the bed and his ass would be lit up again. It took two occasions for that lesson to sink in.

Max felt his t-shirt pulled over his head, an attempt at humiliation that didn't work. He didn't care if either of them saw him naked, he didn't care what they thought about anything. They were nothing to him, nothing except jailors, wardens and enemies.

He was left to stand there for more minutes than he could count. His ass stung, his stomach was grumbling with hunger, his legs were tired and the need to piss had been painful for the last half hour. At least he'd been able to rub some of the sting away after the man stopped peering at him with his hawkish eyes, but fuck, he'd give anything to just use the fucking toilet.

"Max?" He heard in a dry, raspy voice.

"What?" He spat with venom, his voice nearly as raspy as the woman's.

"You can, you can leave now, your father said you could."

His father? That was the biggest joke he'd ever heard in his life. That man wasn't a father, he was barely a man, hardly a person. She was less so. She doesn't hit him like the man does, she just lets him, and when he's around everything she says either begins or ends with; "Your father said" or something to that effect. She was just a husk, an empty vessel, an emulator for his will. Max almost missed the old her, the one with a bit of gumption. Almost.

In any case he didn't waste any time in pulling up his underwear, stepping out of his jeans and bolting for the bathroom. After he was done he went into the kitchen, starving for some food. He prepared his usual sandwiches, had one of them scoffed down before he got back to his bedroom, and threw himself face-down onto his bed, exhausted from the day. His ass still stung something fierce, and his old welts were grieving him again.

He finished his food, pulled his covers up to his neck, and with a hand down the back of his underwear, and thoughts of the camp in mind, he fell asleep, happier than he'd been in quite a while.

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 **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed so far. I don't know if this chapter will surpass the staggering 17 reviews the last one got, but please help me try.**

 **Also, if you're interested in having a say in the future of this story, head on over to Archive Of Our Own and find this story there. There's something I'm putting to my readers over that some of you may be interested in. You don't need to make an account or anything, you're allowed to make guest comments.**


	14. Finally

**Chapter 14: Finally**

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 **To JustARandomNerd: Just 1 more chapter my friend, but hopefully this'll tide you over until then :)**

 **To Blue Feather Pegasus: There was a 71 day time-skip between chapters 12 and 13, and this chapter takes place during the last month before Max goes to camp.**

 **To Like A Pro 42: Refer to our PM for further information :)**

 **To Agent Smudge: A lot of people can't wait for that, fam, and hopefully it'll be worth it. And thank you, I really appreciate that!**

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A week after his last spanking, Max was called into the kitchen just as he came in the door from school. He debated running outside again. There was no way he wasn't being summoned for the sole reason of being told he was gonna get another beating. He'd discreetly gotten rid of the can by bringing it to school with him and throwing it in a bin there. Someone might get in trouble for that, but he just hoped it wasn't him.

He waltzed into the kitchen anyway, steeling himself to be on the receiving end of the leather belt. It wouldn't be the first time it happened over the table, but he hoped to at least get it done in his room, where he was at least a bit more comfortable. Sashi was there too, her smell being a dead giveaway.

"Yes?" He said in the most emotionally neutral tone he was capable of.

"Your mother's just told me that you want to go back to that camp this year." He said, his voice alight with a sickening glee.

"Yeah, she said I could." He responded, knowing that it would better his chances if the woman was at least on his side at some point, even if she did backtrack now.

"I know, but since I am the breadwinner in this house, I decide what is done with the money." The tone he said that with made Max shudder. He could tell that the man was going to use this to his utmost advantage, and that she would do nothing to stop him. "So, from now until June 1st you will be on your absolute best behaviour, or you won't be going to the camp."

Max grit his teeth, not daring to say a foul word. Any infraction at all would see him at home for the entirety of summer, and his plans with David would be decimated beyond repair, and he'd be forced to live with them until he was old enough to leave.

No. He still had an ace to play if it came to that, he still had Damien's number after all, and a favour to cash in if he ever needed it. He wouldn't waste it on them though, he was perfectly able to take care of this situation by himself, without that Irish bastard.

"Okay." He said, trying to sound as respectful as possible, which was a chore given the company he kept.

"Okay, what?" He said, his voice a viscous slime with a stench of sadistic enjoyment coming from it.

"Okay," Max grit his teeth, thinking that biting his own tongue off would be preferable to giving in. "sir." It felt like a betrayal of his self to say that, and Max found his sense of self-loathing flicker a bit.

"Very good." The man said as he walked right by Max, making the boy flinch. He half expected to be bent over the table and belted again just for the sake of it. But he wasn't. The old bastard went into the living room without another word. Max heard the couch springs strain so he took that as his cue to leave.

"Where are you going?" The man asked, his voice raised to a startling volume.

"My room." Max answered, an anxiety building up more and more each second.

"No." He said with a stone-solid finality that left little room for debate for someone in Max's position. "You're going to stay here."

Max balked. He was about to ask 'Why' in the most insubordinate tone he could muster, but immediately caught himself. Why the man, who seemed to loathe his very presence, would want him around made him weary. Nonetheless, he walked into the living room, not quite sure of his safety if he sat on the sofa. He stood there, waiting for something to be said but nothing was. The clock's hands ticked the minutes by, giving Max a chance to let his mind wander as his legs began to cramp.

He was taken out of his thoughts when the man shouted "Boy!" at him. He flinched, but responded with a pleasant;

"Yes…sir?"

"Go fetch me a beer from the fridge." His tone was superficially polite and nice, but anyone who knew the bastard the way Max did could feel the slimy malice underneath it all. He did as he was told, and during his brief walk the purpose of this was beginning to dawn on him. He was going to be used as a caddy, a mule for the man so he wouldn't hafta get off his ass while he watched his trash TV. The realization made Max squeeze the cold can in his hands, not enough to do any great damage, but he did leave a few small indents. He held the can vaguely in the direction of the couch and felt it snatched from his hands.

"Good boy." The man said as if addressing a dog who just learned not to piss on the carpet. It made Max bristle and cringe. He probably pulled a face, and the man probably saw it judging by that irritating chuckle Max heard as he backed away.

After another half-hour of standing there his feet were beginning to really hurt. As well as that he was hungry and needed to piss. The man was "generous" enough to give him ten minutes to himself to solve those little issues, but then it was back to standing there, forced to listen to reruns of Family-Feud or some other stupid shit.

The hours just went on and on, and he found himself making trips to the fridge more and more until he eventually heard the man's sonorous snoring. He tip-toed away, hoping the old cunt wouldn't wake up and start smacking him or something. He threw himself onto his bed and fished his phone out. Siri was nice enough to tell him that it was 01:48 in the morning. He groaned, knowing that the morning was going to be a pain, and that he'd be tired for the whole day tomorrow.

Turns out he was right, he was tired the day after, and the day after that and the one after that too. It wasn't until the weekend came again that he managed to get some decent rest, but then it was back to standing by that couch for hours on end.

"By the way, your form for the camp is on your bed, boy, I hope you're grateful." The man said one Thursday night, exactly 2 weeks before the date to go to the camp. The poison that laced those words smelled worse than any Max had smelled before.

"I am. Thanks…sir." That still took a lot of willpower to say, even after all the shit he'd had to put up with so far. In any case, he'd be guarding that form with his life. Now that he had it nothing was going to take it away from him.

When his stomach let out a growl that echoed through the entire room he was given leave to feed himself. He knew there was some good cold chicken in the fridge so he decided he was going to put that in some bread and have that be his dinner for the night. He felt around the shelves, looking for the meat until he felt a flat plastic package. Thinking it was the chicken, Max pulled at it. There was only slight resistance, but with that slight resistance Max felt something give. He was too late in trying to catch whatever had fallen, he literally felt it slip through his fingers.

Then there was a loud smash, a shattering of glass, and suddenly the room was filled with a fruity scent and Max's socks were soaked with a liquid that soon felt very sticky.

Max froze, feeling as if a T-Rex was glaring at him, wondering if he'd be worth eating. He knew this one would gladly devour him, he could practically feel it's massive breaths blowing against the back of his neck.

"That was an expensive bottle of wine, boy." He heard the man say, and not in his usual tone of joyous torment. No, now he was well and truly pissed off and not merely acting like he was to justify a belting.

"I'm sor-" Max tried to apologise, but he was pulled up by his hair before he could get it out. He grunted, his feet kicking the air. He wrapped his hands around the man's wrist to pull himself and alleviate the pain in his scalp, but the man just gripped tighter. He was thrown and he landed on the floor with a hard _thud_! His shoulder throbbed.

"Get into your room, now!" The man said, the anger in his voice blatant and searing.

Max didn't put up a fight, knowing that what was about to happen was unavoidable. He hated it nonetheless, knowing that his ass was about to be put through the meat grinder. His only hope was that this wouldn't affect his chance to go to the camp.

He heard the man yelling at Sashi to clean the mess up, then he heard the back door open and slam shut. Why was he going out there? Max thought for sure that he was going to get his ass beat immediately. What could possibly be outside that the man would need for that.

Then it dawned on Max, and an existential dread filled his very core. The strip of tyre he'd been threatened with over a month ago. Was this the night he felt its damage? He hoped not, he hoped that the man was going outside for a different reason altogether, that a random animal had hopped the fence and he was just going out to deal with it.

The back door slammed shut. Max jumped, the urge to vomit rising in his gut. The stomps the man made as he got closer to his room sounded like the funeral march to Max's ears. The thought to hide under his bed came to mind, but he immediately shoved it away, realizing that would only piss him off even more.

"Pants down, boy." Max heard, the words sounding more like a death sentence. With trembling fingers he unzipped his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He was grabbed by the back of his neck and dragged like a rag-doll. He was made to bend over the bed, then his underwear were pulled down too. "Don't move, if you do, I'll do the same tomorrow night too."

Again, the urge to vomit gurgled in him, but he repressed it.

He heard the whizzing of the instrument through the air, then he heard a cracking **SMACK**! It took a few heartbeats for him to register the pain, but when he did, he screamed. It was like he'd been whipped with a dozen tiny whips at the same time, but each held the force of a full sized weapon. This was a weapon, he thought, this was the weapon that'd send him over the edge. It was big enough to cover his entire rear in one hit and had enough force behind it to jolt him forward when it connected.

 **SMACK!**

Another hit, another scream. The pain was so much greater than what came before. The instinct to cover himself, to run and hide tried to dominate him, but he knew, he knew with solemn certainty that would make things infinitely worse.

By the time the man had finished, Max was a ball of tears and snot seasoned with a massive helping of self-pity and pain. He was still bent over his bed, his throat raw from his screams and sobs, his body trembling, his legs wet with trails of hot blood from the sliced skin of his rear end, the palms of his hands cut by his own nails, and the man who caused it all panting behind him.

"You're grounded." The man said, pure anger and malice behind every syllable. With that Max heard him leave the room. Apparently, corner-time wasn't deemed necessary.

He lay there for longer than he could tell, continuously sobbing and wishing for the pain to go away. He didn't want this anymore, he never wanted it. He wanted to be somewhere safe, someplace he could trust with people who he could depend on. He wanted Walter to be alive, he wanted Damien to kill that bastard who made his life hell, he wanted to live with them, he wanted that one miraculous night where he thought he'd escaped from this life to be real. He wanted to be taught by Walter again, and not just how to cope without his sight, but how to live, how to be a person. In the hour that man had thought they'd be father and son he acted more like a father than _Daniel_ had in 10 years. But he couldn't, and that was something Max was lamenting now more than ever before. Maybe it wasn't real, Maybe Damien would come back any moment with Walter in tow, and they'd adopt him just as they'd planned. But Max knew that was childish, a fool's dream that would never come true.

Now, he needed to look forward, to David, to the camp, to his last vestige of hope. He knew David would take him away from this, he knew he would! That man was the first one to show Max that things didn't have to be shit all the fucking time, and he would without a doubt take him away from all of this.

Max didn't go to school on Friday, or the Monday following. In fact, he wasn't seen going back to school until the Monday of the last week, and even then, he wasn't walking quite right. The feeling of even sweat pants rubbing against his cheeks was near unbearable. He found himself taking breaks from walking every 2 minutes just to give himself some relief. At least he was able to walk actual distances now, he didn't even have that ability until the Tuesday after he was beaten. If he tried he just crumpled to the floor in agony.

Even when the cuts clotted closed, he couldn't walk too much or he'd tear the scabs open. Hell, he didn't even move from his bed for 3 days afterwards, opting instead to just lay there and wait for it to stop hurting. He only ended up moving when the man pulled his covers out from under him because "The smell of piss is making me want to vomit!". Max had been starving too, and only ate again on the Monday, four days after the fact. Even then it was only a few slices of bread, and the trek to the kitchen had been agony.

But now he was back at school, waiting for the days to tick by until it all ended. His form hadn't been taken so he took that to mean he was still going to camp. He was grateful for that at least, it wouldn't have been out of character for the old bastard to revoke that privilege.

He was counting down the days, more like Siri was doing it for him, and after the last day of school, on May the 31st, he was excited to finally be getting away from it all. That night he'd packed everything he'd need into his backpack and a duffle bag. He had his hoodies, pants, underwear, socks, t-shirts, everything he'd need if things went according to plan. He had Mr. Honey-Nuts too, and his phone and charger, and he remembered to stuff his suit in there too when he thought of it.

He kept the most important thing, his form, on him at all times. He slept with it underneath his stomach and everything.

He was awake before the others had eaten and pissed before waiting in the living room for one of them to get up to drive him there. He'd made sure to wear his yellow camp shirt today. It fit just as well as it had the year before, if not a little better. The woman was up first and said that they'd all be going on the journey. Perfect, he'd hafta put up with her stench _and_ the man's general presence during the whole car ride. At least they wouldn't be taking him all the way to the camp, just to the city closest to the camp. The bus would take them the rest of the way.

The thought made him smile. He'd hear old voices again, and maybe some new ones too. He'd hear David for sure, the man was louder than a trumpeting elephant if he wanted to be.

The car ride was silent. No-one wanted to speak, Max not wanting to risk saying something that'd turn the car around, the man not being bothered to speak to them at all, and Sashi being her usual unopinionated self. Even when he needed to pee again, Max said nothing.

"We're here." The man said, the car jolting to a stop. Max was stirred from his half asleep state, blinking the crust out of his eyes.

"Thanks." He said, excitement bubbling in his chest like boiling water.

He was careful when moving, making sure the duffle bag didn't trip him up. He shuddered when he felt the man's hand clamp onto his shoulder. "This way, boy."

Max let himself be guided, each step like a loud quake in his ears. He held the form tightly in his pocket, not risking having it disappear on him.

"Max!"

His heart nearly stopped when he heard that voice, it sounded like honey in his ears and a sweet song for his soul. "David." He whispered so quietly that he wasn't even sure he said it aloud. David sounded as excited as Max felt. He walked out of the man's clutch and towards David's voice. "David?" He knew he said it aloud this time. He held his hand out, hoping to clutch onto anything of his, just to make sure he was really there.

"I'm right over here, Max." David said, sounding as happy to see Max as he was to see him. Max knew that wasn't physically possible though, there's no way David was happier than him right now.

"I, I can't see you!" He said, hoping the man would just make his presence physically known. It was only then that it dawned on Max that he forgot his cane. That didn't matter, not now that David was here.

"I'm right…here." David sounded less excited now. That made Max stumble. Was he not happy to see him after all? Was that all a lie too!? He began to panic. Was he in on some sort of trick, after all this time!

Then Max felt a hand take his outstretched one. This hand was warm, yet covered in callouses, and he could feel little cuts all over it. "I'm right here, Max." David said, sounding concerned yet relieved all at once.

"Hey." Max said, at a complete loss for any other words.

"You're the one we talked to over the phone?" The man's cancerous voice brought an immediate close to his and David's meeting, and he wanted to bite him for it!

"Yes, that'd be me!" David's hand moved away from Max's. "You must be Max's parents."

"Yes." Sashi said, as dull and raspy as ever. "Take care of him."

"Oh don't worry ma'am! We at Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell prioritise the safety and enjoyment of our campers above all else." He sounded as if he'd said it a million and one times. He probably had to, considering how much reassurance people needed when they actually learned a thing or two about the place.

"Even though he can't see?" The man asked, his voice brimming with that toxic glee yet again. "If he'd be too much trouble, we'll take him home again."

Max stopped breathing. Surely David would say 'no', right? Surely.

"Of course! Camp Campbell is perfectly equipped to have any camper, no matter their differences!" That voice and those words sounded as if they'd been delivered by God himself via angelic intervention. He took a breath again.

"Okay then. Give him your form, boy." That glee was back again, something didn't sit quite right with Max. Was there something he didn't know about? Was the form a fake? A trick? No, they wouldn't make that long ass drive all the way out here just for some trick. He took the form out of his pocket and held it in the direction of David's voice. He felt the paper taken from his fingers, he heard the page unfold, followed by David's murmurings.

"Okay, everything seems to be in order. Max Anand, age eleven, your contact information, and your camp is- oh." He cut himself off mid-sentence. "Is this really…" He sounded cautious, reluctant even.

"Yes." The man spat. "Your website said any activity at all, and this is what the boy needs. I, I mean, we expect results by the end of summer. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Mm-hm." It was more of a choking noise than a reply, but it seemed to do.

"Well, we'll be leaving ye then. See you at the end of summer, Max." That last, cancerous word chilled Max to the bone, but he was happy they were leaving, he'd be here with just David, and with any luck, he'd never have to see them ever again.

* * *

 **Please let know your thoughts on this chapter. What do you think Max's camp is?**

 **Thanks to everyone who favourited, followed, and reviewed last chapter, I appreciate y'all.**


	15. Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell

**Chapter 15: Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell**

* * *

 **To Varkrow: That is the level of intensity I want from every reader, keep it up friend.**

 **To neoxistatehuaki: Full disclosure I don't speak Spanish, but Max está a salvo ahora, no te preocupes por su padre**

 **To NightshadeLG: Who knows what the camp'll be? I do, and I'm yet to decide whether to tell y'all yet**

* * *

As Max heard the damnable sputtering of the car's exhaust move farther and farther away, it felt as if a ten-tonne weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He smiled, knowing that no matter what he did now, he'd never get belted, or spanked, or tyred ever again!

"So, Max?" David said, taking Max out of his stupor. His voice was as soft as silk in Max's ears, softer than even Walter's had been. It made him feel a way he hadn't in months. Relaxed.

"Yeah, David?" Max asked, the sharp edge he used with David last summer dulling a little bit.

"How, um, how has your year been?" He asked, obviously trying to fill the silence with some form of conversation.

"Complete fucking horse-shit." He answered. It was as honest as it could possibly get, it had been one right pig of a year. The last five months in particular had been absolutely hellish to say the least. Well, a majority of it at least. "Started off shit, had acid poured into my eyes on new-Year's," It wasn't the total truth, technically it was some rancid eye drug, but David didn't need to know that. "then those two started trying to win the cunts of the year award."

"Oh, I'm sorry Max." He sounded awkward but sincere, that was David just being David after all. "It must've been tough." Max could tell by how close his voice was that David had crouched down to his level.

"I survived." Max mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I know it'd take more than that to knock you down!" David said, placing a hand on Max's shoulder. It was so gentle it almost frightened him, the last time he could remember a touch so soft was when Walter had carried him up those stairs to that tiny crawl space. He didn't shrug it off but turned his head as if to look at it. He felt a little colder when it left, but like hell he'd ask for him to put it back. "Here, I'll load your stuff into the bus, alright?" David said, lifting the straps of the duffle bag around Max's neck.

"Yeah, sure." He said, shrugging his back-pack off too. He really noticed the difference now that they were gone.

"Whaddup, kid?" Max's head snapped in the direction of the new voice. He heard a light _pop_ , and then he realised that the voice was familiar, the voice of someone he'd envied quite a few times during the last few months.

"Ered." He stated. "Didn't think you'd be coming back. Aren't you too old to go to camp?" He asked, feeling a smirk creep its way onto his face. The old camp feeling was coming back to him. Excitement bubbled in his chest. He was really gonna see his friends again. Nikki and Neil mostly, but the others would be great to see, well, hear, again.

"Yeah, well." She paused. "I just shrugged, fyi." She paused again, taking a few steps towards Max. "Don't tell the camp man, but I'm really here to keep an eye on the place, see if Campbell tries to crawl back to his old hidey-hole." She said in a whisper, getting so close to Max that he could smell the perfume. Or was it cologne? He couldn't really tell. That didn't surprise Max too much, Campbell did seem to have a bit of stake in the place and trying to come back wasn't too out of the question for him.

"Your secret's safe with me." He replied, glad for the feeling of solidarity between him and the cool girl.

"Oh it's so great to see old friends talking again!" Burst in David's voice, sounding as if simply holding a conversation with someone was worthy of an entire award ceremony. Max wanted to retort him with some sort of snarky remark, it was almost reflexive, but he didn't want to try and dampen the reunion so soon. He'd give it a couple of days, then he'd fall back into his old habit. "Now we're just waiting for one more camper today." David said, putting a hand on Max's shoulder. "We're just waiting over this way, Max." David guided Max to a table and chairs and helped him find one to sit on.

"So who else is here?" Max asked, followed by another one of Ered's bubbles popping.

"Well, there's you, me, Ered, and Hunter!" David answered. "Say 'hi' Hunter."

There was a brief pause.

"Hey." Said a nervous sounding voice. Max was pretty sure it was a boy, the name was a giveaway, but his voice was so timorous and quiet that he could've easily confused it for a little girl's.

"Hunter's our only new camper so far, so you guy's will have to tell him how great everything is at camp!" David almost sounded desperate there, as if whether or not Hunter enjoyed himself was of paramount importance.

"Sure." Ered droned, reverting to her typical cool-girl persona while popping another bubble.

"The plumbing's crap." Max said, smirking as he felt the joys of stirring shit swell in him again. "You better have brought your own shovel and toilet-paper, cos I ain't sharing."

"Um, uh, what?" Hunter said, sounding as confused as Max felt giddy.

"Oh don't listen to him, Hunter," David chuckled. "Max is always looking for someone to play a trick on. And I got the plumbing fixed, thank you very much." He sounded almost indignant, but Max was glad to hear that the plumbing had been sorted out. It would've been a pain to battle the pipes and porcelain if he could see, let alone as he was now.

"Who are we waiting for?" Max asked, wondering who camper number four would be.

"We're just waiting for Nikki now. She was the second one to sign up for camp, just an hour after you." David gently pat Max's back. Between that and his status as camper number 1, he felt his cheeks redden, and not in the painful way.

Max was about to say something back to David, potentially something emasculating, but he was interrupted by a gruff, scratchy, old voice appearing out of no-where right behind him.

"The bus is re-fuelled." The Quartermaster said.

Max startled in his seat, and he felt himself blush even more deeply.

"Okay gang, as soon as Nikki arrives we'll go straight to the camp!" You would've thought, by his tone, that he was talking about going to the golden gates of heaven.

"So, Hunter, what camp have you signed up for in this dumpster fire of a gathering?" Max asked, trying to brush away the embarrassment of being startled.

"Um, I uh, I've, I've gone, gone for amine, I mean anime, anime camp. I'm here for anime camp." He said, his last words barely a whisper. Max couldn't see, but he was willing to bet that Hunter would be blushing more than he'd been right now.

"And you're still going for edgy goth camp?" Max asked, smirking in the direction of Ered's bubble pop.

"Extreme sports, as usual. No big D. Goth is so 2013." He couldn't see it, nor could he hear it, but Max would've bet his phone that Ered just flipped her hair back.

"And you, what's your sentence?" She asked.

"I don't know. What is it David?" Max asked, knowing that if it was the old bastard who chose, it wouldn't be good. He imagined some sort of boot camp, like the wood-scouts do, or maybe a 'pain-threshold-improvement' camp. Something that'd be unpleasant no matter what. But he knew that David wouldn't do it. If he and Gwen were desperate enough to fake a moon landing for Space-Kid, they'd surely find a way around whatever stupid shit he had in for him.

"Oh, well, it's…" He drew out the words, clearly not wanting to say. That worried Max. What was so shitty that he wouldn't say it out loud. "Oh look, Nikki's here!" He exclaimed, his chair legs scraping the stone ground.

"What was _that_ about?" Ered asked, sounding as confused as Max was annoyed.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out." Max answered, already trying to come up with schemes to find out what he was signed up for.

Max heard Nikki well before she was within talking distance, followed by David's womanly yell.

"Just asserting dominance again, you might have forgotten since last year!" That made Max smile, it was good to know that she was still the Nikki he remembered.

"Okay everyone," David said, his voice sounding a little pained. "now that everyone who's arriving today is here, we can go to the camp now."

"Hey Max!" Nikki declared, standing right in front of Max, so close he could smell the dirt. "Well don't just leave me hangin'!"

"I can't see your hand Nikki, so you'll have to ask someone else." Max said, wondering how long it'd take for her to realise.

"What!? Am I invisible?" She asked.

"Yeah, you're totally invisible now." He said, barely able to stifle a laugh.

"Nikki," David said. Max could tell by how close the voice was that he'd gone down to their level. "you aren't invisible, it's just that, well, Max is blind now."

"Oh? Well I guess that makes more sense." She said. "I guess it's better I'm not invisible, that'd make hunting way too easy." She laughed.

David filed all of them into the bus, guiding Max by the shoulder. He was sat next to Hunter, with Nikki and Ered across the aisle.

"So," Max said, reclining back in the seat. "what made you wanna get away for the summer? And why'd you choose this of all places?"

"I, um, I, I, I," He stammered, paused and took a breath. Max then heard him mumble something to himself, something with a lot of s'. "I'm here cos I, I, I, wanted to, um, to go to, to, to a, to a camp, and Dave's, Dave's my, neighb-neighbour, and he gave us, a, gave us, a disc-discount." He sighed, relieved to have gotten the answer out.

Max snorted. "Dave?" That name was way too cool for someone like David. Hell, even Davey was better suited to him.

"I've, I've always called him, called him Dave!" Hunter said, sounding indignant.

Max shrugged, not really caring anymore about the name. If this kid was David's neighbour, then that meant he'd be Max's neighbour too if everything went his way. Might as well not make him an enemy.

"Whatever." Max said, sitting forward. "Hey David!" He shouted.

"No need to shout Max, I'm right here." He said, sounding as if he were in the seat just in front of them.

"Who else has signed up this year?" He asked, wondering who of last year's batch also decided to go for another round at Cameron Campbell's Camp Campbell.

"Well, from your friends from last year, there's Nurf," He paused, no doubt remembering being stabbed in the hands by the troubled youth. "Harrison, and Dolph. They've all already signed up for another fun summer!"

" _No Space-Kid, Nerris, Preston, or Neil."_ Max thought, feeling a little disappointed that his old tent-mate wasn't going to be there anymore. Then again, it wasn't too surprising. Neil had been expecting a proper science camp last year and instead had been scammed by Campbell into attending 'wooden-beaker & baking-soda volcano' camp instead.

He shrugged, not letting his disappointment become apparent. "So who'll I be sharing a tent with?" He asked, wondering who he'd be getting comfy with for the next three months. He thought about his options. Nikki would be fine, but she seemed like the kind of person to yell in her sleep and sleepwalked. Ered would be cool enough to be quiet, and she seemed to be copped on enough to know how to act with someone who was blind, something that couldn't be said for Nikki. Nurf? No, he thought not. Harrison seemed like a chaotic roommate to have. Max still remembered being forced to regurgitate all those cloths and shit last year, and the prospect of a repeat upset his stomach. Dolph? Tried that, it didn't work out. Besides, he made it clear he didn't want Max as a friend.

"Well, I've put you in the same tent as Hunter here." He said as chirpily as a singing bird. "I'm sure the two of you will get along great together!"

Max shrugged and sat back. He would've preferred Ered the best out of that roster, followed close by Nikki, but he imagined that David would've put the girls together in their own tent. Well, good luck Ered. Hunter seemed like the quiet type anyway, so he wouldn't be keeping Max up at night at least.

"Cool." He replied. "You don't snore, do you?" He asked with an accusatory tone, turning as if to look at Hunter.

"N-n-no!" He answered, sounding desperate to not upset Max. "At least, at least, I don't think, I don't think so." He spoke meekly, suddenly sounding worried.

"I've never heard you snore once, Hunter, don't worry about that. Max is just teasing." David said, trying to lightly scold him. Max just smirked.

"How would you know? You two fucking?" Max asked, leaning back and waiting for David's beautiful reaction. Before David said a word though, Max heard a squeak and a clapping sound beside him.

"Maaaax!" David said in the most stern and authoritative tone he could muster. "Don't say things like that, it isn't polite."

"I don't hear you denying it." Max stated, realising how much he missed messing with David.

"Well of course it just isn't true. I used to be Hunter's sitter, that's how I know he doesn't snore, thank you very much." He said matter-of-factly.

Max turned his head to Hunter. "He used to be your babysitter?" He pointed in the direction of David's voice.

"Y-yes." Hunter answered in a tiny squeak of a voice. Max reached out, felt Hunter's upper arm and clapped his hand onto his shoulder.

"I am so sorry, it must've been traumatic." He tried to put on the most sympathetic tone possible, but it came out with a repressed laugh underneath it.

"I'll have you know that I was the best sitter anyone could ask for, I sat for over a dozen couples in the neighbourhood." David's voice was filled with the same pride he typically spoke of Camp Campbell with.

The bus ride didn't last too much longer, but Max was relieved for it to be over with. David had decided that singing would be the best way to pass the time, and he started with that dreadful camp song of his. He'd plugged his ears before he finished the lengthy "Ooooooh!". Max had gotten second-hand embarrassment from Hunter when he heard the kid singing along perfectly. He did a few less egregious songs after that, but the camp song remained a regular for the duration of the journey.

After they all got off, David showed everyone to their tents and had them put their luggage away. He had insisted on holding Max's hand the way there, and he was glad that Nurf wasn't there in that moment. He felt his way to the bed, David taking it upon himself to unpack his luggage for him, which he was happy to let happen.

"You just crumpled everything into this, Max! It's all wrinkled." David complained.

"Sorry David, I couldn't see where I was putting everything when I was packing, so I just gave up and threw it all in." He said in the most innocent tone he could muster. It must've worked, cause David only 'hmphed' in response.

"So, where's Gwen?" Max asked as he lay down on the bed.

"Oh, well, she doesn't work here anymore." Saying that sounded like it pained David, but he tried to hide it beneath a layer of happiness. "But it's okay, she's doing something she loves now, and she's being paid a lot more, a lot more, and she has all sorts of benefits like dental and…other things." He trailed off.

That revelation struck Max in the gut. Sure, he and Gwen didn't always get along, but she was an important part of the camp, and she did help Max out a couple of times. He was gonna miss having her there, if for nothing else for her mutual hatred of the camp they once shared.

"You got a replacement yet?" He asked, putting on an uncaring tone.

"No, not yet, but I'm sure someone will respond to the advertisement soon." He huffed. "Everything's folded neatly Max, hoodies on the left, pants on right, and everything else in the middle." Max snapped his fingers into a thumbs-up at the man. "And how are you, Hunter, everything okay?" Max heard David walk over to the other side of the tent.

"Y-ya." He stuttered. "Everything's good."

"That's good." David said. There was a pause. "Dinner will be at 5:00, don't be late, I got pizzas while we were in town, and some ice-cream for dessert." He whispered, keeping the secret between him and half the campers. Then he was gone.

Max took out his phone, had Siri put on 'Feel Good Inc.' and relaxed. He pulled off his hoodie, finding it too stifling in this heat.

"Who, who are, who are they? That you're, you're listening, listening to?" Max heard Hunter ask.

"The Gorillaz." He answered. "They're the best band." They really were. Max loved their music and how they didn't stick to just one genre, they did a bit of everything. He also related to Murdoc Niccals, Satanist and bassist extraordinaire, on a deeper level.

"I haven't, haven't heard much of, much of the-the-their stuff." Hunter said. "But they, they sound good, good, good there." He tried to sound interested, and Max at least tried to appreciate that.

"Yeah, this is one of their best ones. What about you? What are you into…anime-wise?" Max asked, knowing he'd understand absolutely nothing about his answer.

"Oh, um, I started with, started with, with N-N-Naruto when I was se-seven, then I, then I went on to other stuff when I was, I was old-older. I really like, really like, Death, Death Note, Code Geass, The Fate ser-series, but right, right now my favourites are, One-One piece and Hunter X Hunter!" He answered, getting louder and more excited with every series he mentioned. Max knew absolutely none of them but could tell that they meant a lot to Hunter.

"Right, just try not to mention any of that around Nurf when he gets here, 'cause he will use that as reason to give you wedgies." He said, trying not to sound dismissive.

"Oh." He sounded dejected. "Who's, who's Nurf?"

Max chuckled. "Just a bisexual bully with a knife collection and anger issues."

"Oh." Hunter went very quiet, and he even sounded a bit scared.

"But don't worry, Harrison will be coming too," Max shuddered. "and he's easier bait than you, probably. What are you wearing, and how nerdy is it?" Max asked, wanting to get a feel for how much danger this kid would be in.

"I've, I've got a One Piece t-t-t-t-shirt." He said. "Not, not much else. Anime things are hard to, hard to come by, and are kinda, kinda expensive." He said, sounding like a mouse compared to a minute ago.

"Alright." That wouldn't be too bad, only one t-shirt? He wouldn't even be wearing it all the time, so he won't be targeted often. "What about your looks? How much of a nerd are you?"

"My, my looks?" He asked, sounding very unsure of himself.

"Yeah. Do you wear glasses? How tall are you? What's your hair and eye colour?" Max inquired. This would give a fairly good idea of what Hunter looked like as well, which he would appreciate.

"I, I'm kinda, kinda skinny, I have contacts, I'm, about, about two inches taller than, taller than you. And I have, I have blonde, blonde, blonde hair and blue, blue eyes." He said, squeaking out more of the words than not.

"Well, Dolph'll probably like you if nothing else." Max laughed. "Well, just pretend you're my seeing-eye-dog, Nurf's surprisingly considerate when he wants to be."

Max stood and walked over to where Hunter was sitting.

"Welcome to camp, Hunter, it'll be one hell of a summer."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed reading, let me know your thoughts on the chapter and on Hunter in a review. Thanks.**


	16. Max's Camp

**Chapter 16: Max's Camp**

* * *

 **To TheAngelicPyro: I'm glad you like Hunter, there's a good bit of him in this chapter.**

 **To Varkrow: Sorry about Gwen and Neil, had to cut down the cast a little bit. I have no plans for Hunter to become a demented fruit roll, but you never know.**

 **To Chickenspoon42: I'm gonna go out on a wild limb and say you like Death Note, just intuition. I prefer L over Light, just sayin'. I might do a scene like that at some point in the future, leave it with me.**

 **To NightshadeLG: I'm glad you like Hunter, and the stuttering. Apparently I'm good at writing it!?**

 **To Jprogrammer: Hunter _is_ in fact a stammerer and stutterer**

* * *

None of the other campers had shown up in the two days since they had arrived at the camp, so David had started to do some basic camp activities to begin with. They did knot tying, fire making, fishing and tent construction. Max had been bored out of his head the whole time. He couldn't do very many of the activities himself. Not because he wasn't trying to, but because David was coddling him more than a mother did her new-born after five miscarriages. He wasn't allowed to try and start a fire, hook a worm or built a tent, David had the others do it while he listened, well, Nikki and Hunter did it, he could always hear Ered being cool a few metres away from the group despite David's insistence on her participation.

By the start of day three Max was dreading the mind-numbing boredom he'd be subjected to. He decided he's rather do any of the others' activities instead. Anime camp at least sounded more stimulating than tree examination, not that he could examine them anyway.

"You should ask David to try one of your camps today." He told Hunter as they were getting dressed that morning.

"Y-y-you think, think s-so?" He stuttered, already sounding keen on the idea. He must've began getting bored of the mundane camp stuff too.

"Beats the other shit he has us doing."

David agreed, letting Hunter be the first to go. Since the Wi-Fi was dreadful at the camp they just listened to Hunter explain the history of some Japanese magazine called "Shonen Jump" and how it was important to the anime industry. It was painful to listen to at first, it took him five minutes to get through a goddamn sentence, but after a while he took it in his stride and managed to get out the words faster and faster to the point that Max was finding it difficult to keep up. They finished with lunch, courtesy of Quartermaster, and David said they would try to get the projector working so they could all read some of Hunter's Japanese magazines.

"Max?" David said in a hushed voice. The other three were trying to get the projector set up so Max had been stabbing the table with his fork on his own.

"What is it, David?" Max replied, a little harsher than was necessary, but he was a bit pissed with David. All this talk of doing the others' camps only rubbed salt in the wound that he still didn't know his own camp. And even if he did find out what it was, he knew it wasn't going to be something proper. It was going to be something torturous, he was well aware of that, but he wanted to know all the same.

"Can I talk to you for a second in your tent?" He didn't sound nearly as chipper as usual. Max guessed it must've been something pretty serious for David to talk like that. A nagging voice in his head told him that Daniel and Sashi must've called and they were picking Max up early, but he pushed that thought aside, not daring to listen to it.

"Whatever."

David guided Max to his tent and had him sit down on his bed. He could hear the councillor pacing in front of him and breathing loudly.

"What the fuck's the matter, David?" Max proclaimed, getting more annoyed by the second.

"Alright." David exhaled, taking a seat next to Max. "It's about your camp."

Max felt a stone drop into his stomach. To have David speak like this meant something must've been off. Various nasty scenarios began to play out in his head. What could it possibly be to warrant such a reaction from David like this?

"Yeah?" Max asked in a tone that demanded he spit it out.

"How do I…" He paused, mumbling to himself as if trying to find the right words. "Max, just know that no matter what anyone else, even your parents, think of you-"

"They're not my real parents!" Max interrupted, needing that point to get across.

"Right, I'll put a pin in that for now," He paused. "but no matter what they might think of you, and no matter what they may have said to you, just know that I'll never, ever think any less of you."

"What are you going on about?" Max asked, becoming exasperated at the conversation, as well as David's sappy words.

"The camp you were signed up for, the 'pray away the gay' camp, I don't agree with it and I'm not going to go through with it, legal consequences be damned. If you're gay, Max, there's nothing wrong with that and you shouldn't be made to feel bad about yourself about-"

"Those fucking bastards!" Max yelled, jumping to his feet. "How dare they do this, how the fuck dare they!" His fists were clenched, his breath ragged.

"Oh Max," David said, standing and putting his hands on Max's shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with being gay, absol-"

"I'm not fucking gay, David!" He spat. He knew why they wrote that on the camp form, he knew why, and it made a white-hot rage burn in his gut. It was because of Damien and Walter, he knew it. That bastard wanted to remind Max that he was stuck with them, and any attempt to leave would end in disaster, just like it had before. "They just wrote that down because they knew it'd piss me the fuck off!" He growled, the thought of it just making him all the angrier.

"Max-" David said, trying to sound comforting.

"Let's just get back to Hunter's fucking thing." Max growled, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and skulking out of the tent. "And I don't know the fucking way back, David! God!"

"Oh right, sorry Max!"

Max tried to listen at least a little to Hunter's stammered read through of the first chapter of One Piece, but his mind was still seething over the gall of Daniel and Sashi. Everything after the point where the character 'Luffy' stabbed his own face is just a vague haze to him. In fact, everything from dinner until bedtime had just been one long stretch of disgruntled brooding. His mood must've shown, no-one talked to him as he forked his food around his plate, not even his tent-mate.

Max was lying on his bed, only in his boxers and camp shirt when Hunter walked in.

"Hey." He mumbled. Hunter said nothing. He stayed silent as Max heard him sit on his bed. "I said hey." Again, nothing. This was getting really annoying really fast. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge. "Is there a problem between-"

"Hey!" Hunter snapped, finally giving Max his coveted reply. "An-an-and no, there's no, no prob-prob-prob-problem between us!"

He was pissed, that much Max could tell. Whether he was pissed with Max or something else remained to be seen.

"Sure sounds like there is." Max huffed, getting to his feet. "Look, I don't know what's happening with you, but I don't like people just shoving their attitudes in my face, so cut it out!" If Hunter had some issue with Max all of a sudden then he'd make him spill his guts, even if he had to stammer out each syllable five times!

"I-I-I…" Hunter paused, once again mumbling something with many Ss under his breath. "I just thought that, that y-y-you were a, uh, um, a better p-p-p-p-person." He said it quietly yet with resolve, as if knowing not to say it, yet it was something that he wanted to say.

Max scowled in the direction of his voice. "A better person?"

" _Who does he think he fucking is?"_ Max asked himself.

"Well, sorry if I didn't seem too interested in your camp, Hunt," He spat the nickname, very close to saying a different word altogether. "I mean, your nerdy fucking comics are just so interesting after all."

"Shut-shut-shut-shut up!" Hunter yelled. Max heard him get to his feet. "S-s-s-s-sarcasm is the lowest, lowest, lowest form of w-w-w-w-wit!"

Max shoved his fist into his mouth, barely able to keep a fit of laughter from bellowing out of his chest. "That's your comeback?" He asked, making sure his tone was as condescending as possible. "If you're gonna take twelve years to mewl out an insult at least make it worth the wait."

Max heard the other boy's breath hitch, and then he began mumbling again.

"I, I don't, don't under-understand why, why," He gulped, almost as if to rethink what he was about to say. "why Dave said you, you were so g-g-great. Y-y-you're just an, an ass-ass-asshole."

Max frowned, taking a few steps forward, stopping before he walked into anything. "Everything was fine between us until now, until you came in here whinging like a little bitch. Seriously what is up with you!?"

He didn't say anything, neither of them did. Well, that wasn't strictly true, Hunter was quietly mumbling to himself, then he took a long, deep breath.

"I h-heard what, what you said to, said to Dave." He said, taking a few steps closer to Max.

He felt a stone drop into his stomach. He hadn't spoken to David since he'd learnt what his camp was, and yeah, he'd been pissed off. Rightfully so according to him.

"Yeah? What about it?" So what if he heard his ravings? He had every right to be offended and enraged by what Daniel and Sashi did. The sheer insult of it all made him angrier as he thought about it.

"I did-didn't think you-you-you'd h-h-h-hate gay people s-s-s-s-so much." He almost whispered it.

" _Why the fuck would he think I hate gay people because of that?"_ Max wondered. He tried to remember exactly what he said in his fit of rage. He recalled something about being pissed off about being called gay.

" _Oh."_

He saw how Hunter could've gotten that impression from what he said. From his perspective it sounded like Max was offended by being called gay, and with how pissed off he was, and how moody he was for the entire day, it wasn't too far a stretch to assume he just hated gay people.

"Oh." Max said, feeling his anger ebb away. He heard a small sniff. Was Hunter crying? Was Hunter himself gay? Max wondered if that was the case. It'd certainly explain his reaction to Max's alleged homophobia, but still, to cry over it seemed a little dramatic to him. He knew that the stereotypes weren't true, that all gay men were effeminate twinks, or something like that. Walter and Damien proved that to him. Sure, Walter was posh, polite and a bit sensitive, but Damien was a hard-ass drug Lord for Christ's sake! Then again, stereotypes had a degree of truth in them he supposed, so maybe Hunter was a bit more on the sensitive side.

He stepped forward, holding his arm out in front of him, hoping Hunter would take his hand. Another sniff.

"Hunter?" He took another step forward. His fingers brushed against his back. Max used that to find the boy's shoulder and clapped his hand down on it. "I don't hate gay people, I was pissed off earlier because of something else."

"Y-y-you're just saying that, that now be-because-"

"I'm not!" He tightened his grip on his shoulder. "Believe me, I don't hate gay people. I was so pissed off because…" He trailed off, wondering whether this was something to tell Hunter, someone he'd only known for a few days. "because someone I really cared about was gay, and he died, and they were mocking that." He let his hand fall slack.

Hunter didn't say anything, he didn't even move from that spot. Max could just hear him breathing, then mumbling again, then lighter breathing.

"I'm, I'm sorry. I, I, I, h-h-had no clue." He sounded genuine, the edge that was in his voice earlier blunted to nothing.

"It's fine." Max huffed. "I'm guessing you're gay too, seeing as how you were such a drama queen about the whole thing." He chuckled to himself, imagining a blush forming on the vague image of Hunter's face he had in his mind.

"Yeah, I, I, am." He sounded almost like a ghost, as if he were scared of Max knowing such a thing. "Are you?"

"No, that part was true. I was just pissed the fuck off." Max sat back down on his bed, swinging his legs back and forth. "The guy wasn't a boyfriend or anything, I just wanted him and his husband to adopt me."

"Oh." Hunter said, sounding like this was something he didn't think he should be hearing. Max heard him sit on his own bed. "Who were 'they'? The ones who mocked him?" Max felt another slash of rage rip through him, and it must've shown too because Hunter immediately stepped back. "You don't have to, to, to, to s-s-s-say anything you do-do-do-do-don't want to!" He said quickly.

"it's fine." Max sighed, lying back on his bed. "It was Daniel and Sashi, they signed me up for 'pray away the gay' camp, cos they knew it would make me, well, pissed off."

"Are, are the-the-they your, your parents?" He asked, sounding not as scared to speak as before.

"No, thank fuck. I thought they were but turns out they adopted me too. Well, the bitch was my aunt, but aside from that we're not fucking related at all." He made sure to fill his statement with as much venom as he could, just to make sure hunter knew exactly how he felt about them.

"Oh." Hunter didn't say anything beyond that. Max wasn't surprised, he probably had normal parents, with a normal life who didn't really meet people like Max, people with such a colourful history.

"They were assholes, hopefully I'll never have to see them again." He said. "The guy that died, he was going to be my ticket away from them, he was all ready to take me away, to sign the papers and all that shit, but then he got killed." He lay on his side to face Hunter. "Talk about great luck, am I right?"

"Were, were they," He paused, contemplating whether to finish the question. "were they bad?"

Max scoffed. "Were they bad? That's one way of putting it I guess." He got to his feet, faced away from Hunter and gripped the hem of his boxers. "I dunno if you can still see it but I can sure as hell still feel it." He pulled them down just enough to give Hunter a view of his cheeks. He didn't know how bad the marks from the tyre were at this point, but he could still feel the outlines of them when he ran his hands over them.

"Oh Jesus fucking lord!" Hunter exclaimed in a loud whisper.

Max bellowed out a wail of laughter, pulling his boxers up again. "The one time you don't stutter and it's to say _that_!" He threw himself onto the bed again. "Don't let David hear you speak like that, or you'll get a scolding." He laughed again.

"C-c-c-couldn't you tell the, tell the p-p-police? That, that can't b-b-b-be leg-legal." Hunter said, concern and worry dripping from his tone.

"Not yet!" Max snapped, pointing in the direction of Hunter's voice. "The last thing I want is to go to a home."

"But-"

"No! Don't tell anybody, not even David. Understand? I have a plan." He didn't see the need to tell the other boy the finer details of his plans to have David adopt him, so he turned away. "Just go to sleep."

There was a pause, then Max heard Hunter get ready for bed.

He lay there for a while, wide awake and unable to sleep. He thought back to Damien, and that day he turned up at his door.

 **4 Months Earlier – March:**

Max was in his bed, head laying against the flat pillow. He was home alone, Daniel and Sashi were out doing something to do with the baby. He couldn't get the sound, the feeling, or the smell out of his head. Every slight gust felt like Walter's breath on his fingers, every scratchy surface felt like the stubble on his cheeks, and no matter where he was the smell of his blood stayed unwelcome in his nose. The cracking was the worst. Every scrape and every crack reminded him of those dreadful sounds that ended Walter's life.

He'd just been staying in his room most of the time, not speaking very much, eating only when he felt hungry and only getting up to use the bathroom. That's why, when he heard a loud knocking on the door, he didn't stir. He ignored it the second time and the third time, but by the fourth time it was getting annoying, so with an irritated groan he pushed himself to his feet.

He pulled the front door open mid-knock, grimacing as the cold air washed in. "What?" He said in an empty rasp of a voice.

"Max?" He heard in that heavy Irish accent, one he was only too familiar with.

"Damien." He whispered, having no clue as to why he of all people would be there.

"Aye. Are your," He paused, trying to find the right words. "are your guardians home?"

"No." Max answered. "If you need money from them, come back later." He tried to close the door again, but something blocked it halfway.

"I'm here to see you, Max." He said, pushing the door open again. "May I come in?"

Max contemplated. Should he let this man in, the one who had been at least partially responsible for him being blinded? He hadn't forgiven him, not by a long shot. He would've been content with having him be his adopted father, so long as Walter was there too. But he wasn't, he was never going to be. He thought about how, if things had worked out, how he could use the "You kinda blinded me" excuse to get his way from time to time.

"Okay." He stepped aside, smelling the man's cologne as he walked by. Max flinched when the door slammed shut, but he followed Damien to the kitchen anyway. "Why are you here?"

"I want to help you." He said, sounding as if he would rather be elsewhere at the moment. "I want to get you to a better home."

Max scoffed, knowing his only remaining chance of 'a better home' was all the way at Lake Lilac and that nothing this man could say would change his mind. "I don't need your help."

Max could only imagine how silly that sounded, coming from him, a small, miserable kid who didn't even have the energy to put on pants in the morning. That thought prompted him to tap his thigh, just to make sure he was actually wearing underwear. He was, thankfully.

"I know people, Max, good people who can get you to a good, safe home. It can be far away from here if you like. I can have you live on the other side of the country, or Canada, or England, or Ireland. Whichever you want." He did sound sincere, desperate even.

"Why do you want to help me so bad?" He probably had better things to be doing, he did run a drug cartel after all.

"It's what Walt would've wanted. He would've wanted to know you were safe, even if it can't be with him." That was the most genuine he'd sounded since they started this conversation. "Let me help you."

"No." Max sneered. He didn't need Damien's help, he couldn't trust Damien's help. What if he was wrong about these people? What if they were all for helping Max right up until the point they met him? What if they didn't want to uphold their end of whatever deal was made? No, he'd look after himself, he'd only leave those two if it was with the only person he could trust; David.

He heard the man sigh. "Fine, I won't twist your arm, but can you bring me your phone?" Max's head shot up, his eyes widening. He loved that phone, it was the only thing of worth he had left. But of course Damien would want it back, he bought it after all, and he wasn't really in a position to argue.

He trudged back to his room, felt for the phone underneath his pillow, and went back into the kitchen, holding it out to be taken. When he felt it slip from his fingers, he felt a tug at his heart. Walter had taught him to use that phone, it had all the music they enjoyed together on it. He didn't want to lose it.

"Here." Damien said, pushing the phone against Max's chest.

"I thought you wanted it back." Max said, holding it firmly in both hands.

"No, I just put a number into it. It's under the name 'Franklin'. If you ever want to get away from here, or if you need a favour, text it any message, and I'll call you back when I can. I'll do what you need me to do, provided it's in my ability." Max marvelled at the device in his hands. He essentially had a drug lord on speed dial for a single get-out-of-jail-free card. "It's the least I owe you."

"S-sure." Max said, holding the phone tight to his chest. "You going back to sell more drugs and shit."

He heard Damien chuckle, a sincere, mirth-filled laugh. "No, I'm going to do right by Walter. I'm going to leave that behind be. Instead, I've got some Russians to kill.

Max frowned, his grip tightening around his phone. "Emile?" He asked, wondering if the same man who blinded his eyes killed the truest father he ever had.

"Yes, he thought he could go through with a coup, he thought wrong."

With that, Damien walked away, closing the front door quietly as he left. Max was left alone again, things seeming much less miserable now that he knew he an out, a solid, reliable out to all of this. He was unsure of many things, but he knew that Damien had loved Walter, and that Walter had loved Max, and because of that Damien would do what was asked of him. Maybe only once, maybe a dozen times. Who knows, but one thing was for certain, this was going to be his key to a better life.

* * *

 **Hey guys, thanks for reading this chapter. The important message I mentioned earlier is thus: I am putting "Inconvenience" on Hiatus. Sorry if this disappoints anyone, but I feel like I need to take a break from this story for now to try my hand at something else for a while. This story is the first legitimately good thing I have written and I want to make sure than wasn't a fluke. Aside from that, I find myself lacking inspiration for this story right now, so I want to put it aside for a while and come back to it a reinvigorated interest. Thanks for understanding. If you go to my profile you'll be able to see three stories that have been burning in my mind for a long time. My next endeavor is going to be one of them.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed the story so far, know that I will be coming back to this at some point, so please, enjoy my other stories in the meantime.**


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